


Yuuri!!! on Floor

by thehandsingsweapon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:48:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 67,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehandsingsweapon/pseuds/thehandsingsweapon
Summary: katsuki-dondo you know how amazing you are?v-nikiforovdo you?katsuki-dondo I what?v-nikiforovknow how amazing you areThe gymnastics edition, in which Viktor is still a skater because he's too pretty on ice and I couldn't take it away from him. A story about how sometimes love comes slow and soft, and how hearts get bigger when they break.





	1. Sparks fly in Tokyo! All-Around Qualifier Tears

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t written anything resembling fanfiction for over a decade but this show became dear to me over the holidays because it was so enthusiastically recommended by a friend for being so … pure, I suppose. So I watched it and in today’s political climate I was refreshed by its optimism and its empathy for these precious smol baes, but I also wanted to write a take in parallel that acknowledges some of the complex issues that these individuals have probably faced, like LGBT treatment in Russia, for example, or the coup in Thailand, or any number of other micro-aggressions. I don’t think there will be anything that’s too-triggery for anyone, just references to real-life politics and real-life events, periodically intermixed in the narrative. 
> 
> I also wanted to do a gymnastics story because there's more competition elements to play with; e.g. each character can have their time to shine on Vault, or Floor, or Rings *and* there's a team component, which means that over time characters like Georgi and Kenjirou also have a role to play that's important.
> 
> For the purposes of the story, I’ve taken some liberties with ages, timelines, and the host cities of various events, including the Olympics themselves. Where these changes exist they are always for plotty-type purposes (or, if you prefer, because I like breaking things before I fix them, gosh). When the story starts, we're at the 2012 Summer Olympics, which are hosted in Tokyo. I've also made up SNS handles when I can't find them on the wiki because I am a lazy internet hag.
> 
> Phichit and Yuuri are now the same age, and they are roommates at University of Michigan, where Cialdini is Head Coach. Leo, who is from Los Angeles, is one year younger, and an expected Michigan commit, because Cialdini’s one of his coaches via the Team USA system. The University of Oklahoma winds up playing a bit of a villainous role later on. Apologies to anyone who has strong feelings about either school or who has conflicting college loyalties; I attended neither and it's just for story purposes. 
> 
> Ahead of each chapter, I’ll be posting a timeline so you can see what's been happening for each character within the little YOF! world that I'm creating here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 Timeline:
> 
> February 2006: Viktor Nikiforov attends the Winter Olympics in Turin, Italy but falls just short of the podium. It’s revealed afterwards that he sprained his ankle early in his long program, and continued to skate regardless. He was just barely old enough to compete at the time, coming off of a junior championship the year before. In the seasons afterwards, he’s virtually unstoppable.  
> February 2010: Viktor Nikiforov wins gold at the Winter Olympics in Beijing, China. Yuuri Katsuki watches from home in Hasetsu, getting ready for the Asian Games in the summer of 2010.  
> August 2011: Phichit and Yuuri start at Michigan as freshmen.  
> July-August 2012: The Summer Olympics are in Tokyo. Christophe is the favorite in Men’s All-Around; the US, Russia, and Canada are all vying for spots in the Team podium. Phichit and Yuuri are 18/19; Leo is 17. JJ is 19. Victor is 22. Yuri, Guang Hong, and Kenjirou are stuck in juniors as precious smol babies, and sitting this Olympics out. Kenjirou, in particular, is 14, and appears only in social media comments as Yuuri’s biggest fan. No spoilers for winners, read onwards~

**[Instagram]**

_July 27, 2012_

**phichit+chu** WOW ( ノ^∇^) #tokyo2012 #openingceremonies  
_lovelifeleo, katsuki-don, ciaociaocialdini and 175 others like this._

 

 **katsuki-don** so proud #tokyo2012 #openingceremonies  
_madonna-yuuko, nishigori-kun, mari-chan, minakodeladanse, singsingswing, and 8 others like this._  
> madonna-yuuko you’ll make us proud! #hasetsucastlegym  
> nishigori-kun MY HOMETOWN BOY #hasetsu

 

 **phichit+chu** TORCH IS LIT ː̗̀ ٩꒰ꋃ꒱وː̖́ #tokyo2012 #myfirstolympics #openingceremonies  
_lovelifeleo, katsuki-don, ciaociaocialdini and 302 others like this._  
> phichit+chu this has been my dream  
> phichit+chu for so long  
> phichit+chu still can’t believe it ＼＼\\(۶•̀ᴗ•́)۶//／／  
> ciaociaocialdini #goblue proud of you all

 

 **phichit+chu** FIREWORKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! o( ≧∇≦o) #tokyo2012 #openingceremonies  
_lovelifeleo, katsuki-don, ciaociaocialdini and 249 others like this._

 

_July 28, 2012_

**phichit+chu** roomie took me to get kat~su~don~ with his friends and family! #tokyo2012 #katsudon  
_lovelifeleo, katsuki-don, madonna-yuuko and 83 others like this_  
> madonna-yuuko so nice to finally meet you!  
> lovelifeleo jealous *AND* hungry now  
> phichit+chu @lovelifeleo where are youuuu  
> lovelifeleo coach won’t let us leave the village tonight  
> ciaociaocialdini shouldn’t you all be focusing on qualifiers tomorrow? ciao ciao!

 

 **katsuki-don** カツ丼 ♡～٩(^▿^)۶～♡ #mamamakesitbetter #tokyo2012 #katsudon  
_phichit+chu, singsingswing, madonna-yuuko and 249 others like this._  
> mari-chan it’s a #yu-topia family secret~~~  
> madonna-yuuko we had to come wish you good luck! ♡♡♡  
> singsingswing katsuki-san I know you’re going to be great tomorrow!

 

_July 29, 2012_

**phichit+chu** competing in my first ever olympic qualifiers today! wish us luck xoxo #tokyo2012  
_katsuki-don, ciaociaocialdini, and 84 others like this._  
> katsuki-don SO NERVOUS OMG ヽ(ﾟДﾟ)ﾉ  
> ciaociaocialdini stay focused!

 

**[Text Messages; Yuuri’s Phone]**

_July 29, 2012_

**Phichit:** Yuuri  
**Phichit:** Yuuuuuuuri  
**Phichit:** YUUUUUUUUURI  
**Phichit:** WHERE ARE YOU

 

 **Coach Cialdini:** Your sister texted me, your family’s looking for you  
**Coach Cialdini:** Don’t let this ruin your Olympics, Yuuri

 

\- - -

 

Katsuki Yuuri was, as a point of fact, in a bathroom stall. Worse, he was crying in a bathroom stall, struggling to control his breath, to somehow contain his sobbing. Qualifiers had been an unmitigated disaster on almost every front. Team Japan had been counting on him to qualify in most of the events to anchor the team’s hopes of competing in Team All-Arounds.

The catastrophe, like a train wreck he could see coming from miles away, had started with the draw, which put him qualifying on Horizontal Bar first, his second worst event, only surpassed by the paralyzing anxiety that surrounded every Vault competition.

He could remember it perfectly, the haunting feeling of the bar brushing his fingertips, the way that what couldn’t have been more than a second between his missed catch and the crash to the floor seemed to expand into whole eternities of falling. The feeling stayed with him into his second event, supposedly his best: floor, and he’d turned in a performance there that was far from the personal best he’d gotten earlier in the year. Afterwards there had been no saving rings or pommel, and he’d fallen on both of his vaults — compulsory for individual all-around qualifying, but an event he’d always hated.

Vault was ever and always a pair of single moments, and given such a precise points upon which to graft his failures, Katsuki Yuuri never disappointed.

The sinking feeling stayed with him as his teammates drifted further away, in careful silence, unsure of what to say; in Mitsurou-sensei’s attempts to talk him out of the downward spiral; in the way Coach cialdini looked at him, worried, from time to time, as he followed Leo around the arena. Phichit, trying to qualify for just the one event, and the only gymnast representing Thailand, had gone out of his way as they passed each other on rotation to reach out and squeeze his arm, wearing a worried expression that had told Yuuri plenty about just how bad things were.

He was a fraud.

Somehow he’d managed to win the Japanese championships. He’d just missed the podium in the All-Arounds for the Asian Games in 2010, falling behind other competitors from China and Korea, but had a medal in floor to show for his efforts. His international performances had been decent, respectable, some might argue. He saw them now for what they were: an international _Also-Ran._ He wasn’t a superstar, not like this year’s favorite, a flamboyant Swiss gymnast Yuuri didn’t know very well, and certainly not like the Russians Yakov Feltsman seemed to turn out year after year, contest after contest. But it had been enough to catch the attention of Celestino Cialdini, who was the Head Gymnastics Coach at the University of Michigan, back in the United States. Ciao Ciao had been the one to convince him and Phichit, after the Asian Games, to apply to study in the United States, who said he was rebuilding the college team in the search of an NCAA Championship he was confident the Wolverines could clench.

Except Ciao Ciao was with Leo de la Iglesia now, expected to join them at Michigan in just a few weeks, and couldn’t help Yuuri here. In Tokyo, Celestino Cialdini was a mere assistant in the Team USA staff. Leo, who’d only just graduated high school, was the youngest gymnast on their whole team.

And Katsuki Yuuri was Japanese, and so when qualifiers came around, they were  _competitors,_ not  _friends._

Anyway, all of it had been sheer _dumb luck_. Victories secured in front of smaller audiences. On lower stakes. Here, in the Summer Olympics, in Tokyo, with his entire family and his handful of friends watching from the stands in real time, the hopes of his whole country bearing down on his shoulders, Katsuki Yuuri failed to deliver.  
  
He ought to have known that was the outcome, written in his stars: Katsuki Yuuri, nothing more than an ordinary boy, certainly not born to make history.

 _I’ll just get my degree and be done with it,_ he decided, when his tears were well and fully spent, leaving him with nothing more than a bone-dead exhaustion that barely let him walk back to his dorm in the athletes' village. 

He had sixty-three different unread notifications on his phone when he collapsed into bed, and because he wasn’t willing to be both a bad son _and_ a bad gymnast, he sent just the one text message before falling into a black sleep that didn’t even give nightmares.

Like its own little death. Empty and meaningless.

 

\- - -

 

**[Group Text; Katsuki Family]**

**Yuuri:** ill be ok. going to bed. talk later.

 

\- - -

 

Morning came, because morning always seemed to come anyway, even when Katsuki Yuuri rather wished that it wouldn’t. It came in the form of a pillow thrown at him by his roommate; not Phichit, unfortunately: another Team Japan athlete who'd had tremendously little to say in regards to his performance (or complete lack thereof) from the night before.

_There’s an idiot outside who keeps talking to me in English and I want to go back to bed. He’s here for you. Get up._

“Huh?”

_The one from instagram._

There could only be one person who was “the one from instagram.” Phichit Chulanont, Yuuri's sometimes teammate, when they were both back at Michigan; a long-time competitor in all the competitions they’d grown up in while trying to build careers as gymnasts all throughout Asia. Phichit was the first gymnast in Thailand who had the potential to really compete, and he had wandered his way through the road leading up to the games with stars in his eyes and an irrepressible cheer that Yuuri both admired and envied, because he’d never once felt so optimistic or carefree about his own chances.

Instead he'd felt what he felt before every competition, and that was an endless abyss of pure dread.

Yuuri shambled out of his bed at the same time as his roommate shambled back into the other one, and came to the door in the yukata every athlete in the village had been given. It was part of the host nation touch, that and the house shoes, and he'd decided to sleep in it because it had vaguely reminded him of home. Home, where he’d been able to develop his love of gymnastics in private, away from the stares of thousands of strangers, away from the trail of cameras.

Whatever gymnastics was now, it didn’t feel like that love.

Phichit was already dressed and ready for the day, bouncing on his toes. “Morning, Yuuri!” Looking at the Thai gymnast, Yuuri supposed a total stranger would never be able to tell that his Michigan roommate hadn’t been able to qualify at all, not even for his best individual event: vault. He’d come closer than ever to making the final cut, and it hadn’t been quite enough. Phichit had what seemed like a million instagram fans, though, and no doubt he’d gotten nothing but encouraging messages from them. Though his mega-watt smile hadn’t dimmed in response to his own short-lived Olympics _,_ it wavered as he studied his best friend. “Leo said he can get away long enough to meet us for breakfast,” Phichit began, expressive face drifting into a pout that reminded Yuuri, in a strange way, of the family dog. _Vicchan_ , they'd named the toy poodle, back then, after _Victory,_ which commemorated Yuuri’s first gold in a junior competition and supposedly was going to help with his nerves.

“You’re not going to make me go without you, are you?”

“… I’ll get dressed.” He had to face the day somehow. Plenty more like it were coming. The next ten days had been meant for the All-Arounds, and the Team Event, and now all Yuuri had between him and the end of his Olympics was one single final on Floor, nearly at the end. That was plenty of time to agonize about the event, to let depression seep into his bones, whittling away at what meagre resolve he’d ever had to begin with. 

Leo was waiting in one of the village cafeterias, drumming his fingers on the table in time to the music playing over the speakers. He’d qualified for an individual showing on parallel bars, at least, which Yuuri would’ve been happy about if Leo’s presence, in his Team USA jacket, hadn’t been such a stark reminder of the way he’d let Team Japan down. _They_ were going to the team finals, after all. “… Hey.”

They’d both sat with him, still, because they were good friends, even when Yuuri felt the least like himself, unlikable, even. He scrolled through an endless number of texts and posts, finally getting around to flipping through a long list of social media notifications, very few of which seemed worth reading.

 _> LOSER! what an embarrassment! I hope you apologize to your teammates_  
_> singsingswing katsuki-san don’t listen to them  
__> singsingswing you’re still my hero_  

“Quit that!” Phichit scrambled to grab his phone, and Yuuri, his hands suddenly empty, crossed his arms and let his head sink into the cradle they made. “It’s like sitting here watching you pick at a scab,” he said, “and I won’t do it. Leo, tell him!”

“You’ve got a lot of time before floor, still, Yuuri,” Leo murmured, flashing one of his gentle smiles. “Your parents, your sister … they closed the hotel down to come see you, right?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri gave a miserable affirmative, muffled by the table and his arms. “I let them all down, Leo. I know that.” A flicker of temper roared up, an instinct to hurt _something,_ to lash out. Yuuri tried to clamp it down, to redirect his anger back where it belonged: squarely pointed at himself. “I don’t need the reminder.”

“Coach said you’d say that,” Phichit muttered, suddenly sullen. Evidently _they’d_ both talked to cialdini, even if Yuuri had not. It was strange, competing against his college coach here, taking all of his instructions from a coach he hadn’t worked with in over a year. Phichit, seemingly in spite of his sour tone, leaned over and wrapped his arms over Yuuri’s, tilting his head against his friend’s rigid back.

“Yeah,” Leo added, and he reached over to the next seat for his bag, and laid a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, he also said to make your floor performance for them, like you’re back at home, instead of putting the whole weight of your country on your shoulders. I’ve got to run,” he apologized. “We’ve got a thing, with NBC …”

The media. Yuuri had _almost_ forgotten.

“I’m keeping your phone until you finish your interviews,” Phichit chirped, as though he’d read Yuuri’s mind. He had not done so, of course, but Yuuri’s shoulders had gone rigid under his weight, and there was, apparently, a way to positively radiate dread. “You can have it back when you’re done.”

By the time he actually got to his press conference, Yuuri had gotten his hands on a pen and paper, had drafted a written statement. _I would like to apologize to the teammates I let down yesterday in our qualifier, to my friends and family, and to the people of Japan for yesterday’s disappointment. I will do my best to salvage Team Japan’s reputation in the Floor Event to make up for my mistakes. I will be thinking about yesterday for the rest of my life, and am considering what it means for my career in international competition. That is all I have to say at this time. Thank you._

There was no way to post it to instagram; Phichit had his phone.

 

\- - -

 

**[Texts, Phichit’s Phone]**

**Leo:** is it just me or did it sound like Yuuri’s thinking about not competing internationally next year?  
**Phichit:** ｢(ﾟﾍﾟ)  
**Phichit:** we will just have to talk him out of it!

 

\- - -

 

_August 7, 2012_

Phichit Chulanont was _voguing_ in his doorframe. “We’re going out.”

“Floor finals are in two days, Phichit, I need to focus.”

“That,” Phichit crooned triumphantly, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s neck, one leg haphazardly up in the air, “is _exactly_ why we’re going.”

 

 - - -

 

_Flashback, October 7, 2011_

In their few weeks as roommates, Katsuki Yuuri had learned more about Phichit Chulanont than he’d ever been able to glean from their meetings at international contests for gymnastics around Asia. He’d learned, for instance, that Phichit missed his hamsters at home, had somehow gotten pillows in the shape of all _three_ of them, made his family sometimes point the phone towards their cage in a strange Skype livestream that even Yuuri had needed to watch. He’d been forced to watch Phichit’s favorite movie four times, and seen the sequel twice.

He’d learned that Phichit’s irrepressible cheer was not, in any way, a front: his friend truly possessed the art of optimism. He’d also learned that this bright mien sometimes turned into a kind of electric, nervous energy, and was beginning to come to predict when it would lead to surprising, spontaneous outbursts.

_3, 2, …._

“I’m going to FreshSpectives tonight.” Phichit announced suddenly, leaning over Yuuri’s chair to cast a critical eye at his homework.

Yuuri pretended _not_ to know what that was, as though he hadn’t seen the flyers for it in their first week, when Phichit had dragged him through the student union looking for clubs to sign up in that surely the Thai gymnast was never actually going to have time for. _FreshSpectives: Building Community with LGBTQIA Students._ He’d read the poster, and had pondered what it meant, because there were so many more letters strung together than he’d _ever_ heard about in Japan.

With Phichit asleep, after that first day, he’d fallen into a hole on Wikipedia, and had emerged from it with significantly less clarity than where he’d started, head swimming with information that seemed to be common knowledge in Ann Arbor, Michigan, but had never really been discussed in Hasetsu, Japan.

L, G, B, T, Q, Q, I, P, 2S, A, A? All those letters. Which one was he?

“Yuuuuuuuri.” He’d also learned about the effectiveness of Phichit’s whine, and the way his roommate could seemingly flop anywhere, over anything: presently over Yuuri’s homework, for example, like he was liquid, and could seep anywhere. “Everyone thinks Thailand’s this great place for gay people, but it’s _really_ complicated and — and — even if you’re not gay, won’t you come support me?”

So Phichit was a G, then, on that bewildering list of letters. _Gay._ He’d said it the way he did everything else, lightly, like a feather in the wind, drifting and swirling and heedless of whatever direction he was being pulled in. Yuuri didn’t think he’d ever have whatever that was, that kind of carefree.

Phichit Chulanont was also really good at batting his eyelashes, and dragging Yuuri Katsuki to places he would’ve never gone to on his own. Months later, after listening carefully to the coming out stories of others in the club, even Phichit’s starry-eyed confession about another gymnast he’d desperately wanted to kiss when he was thirteen, Yuuri had admitted to the same question which had lingered in his thoughts for ages:

_I don’t really know what I am, to be honest._

Phichit had been as warm and enthusiastic as ever: “that’s okay, Yuuri! Just be yourself!”

It seemed so easy for someone like Phichit Chulanont, something as simple as knowing _who he was._

 

  - - -

 

_August 7, 2012_

_Out,_ as it turned out, had meant going to a club in Shinjuku, and Phichit had refused to settle for Yuuri’s initial attempt to dress himself. _You can’t go out like that! It’s our first Olympics. We’re going to celebrate. Let me dress you up._ He’d swept into Yuuri’s room like a hurricane, ignoring objections, had made him put his contacts in, ran gel through his hair, insisted on a change of clothes: a black shirt with a silver streak that ran like lightning over its shoulder, and trickled over his hips. It fit far more snugly than Yuuri really liked, and made him wonder, for a moment, whether or not he’d put on weight in the scant number of days since Qualifiers. Phichit didn’t let him think about it for very long: a pair of narrow, black slacks hit him in the face straight after, evidently an improvement over the jeans he’d wanted to go out in.

 

 - - -

 

**[Instagram]**

phichit+chu we clean up gooooood! (゜▼゜＊）@katsuki-don #tokyo2012 #boysnightout

 

 - - -

 

Yuuri picked at the hem of his t-shirt, trying and failing to ignore his nerves. Phichit, who had a sixth sense for _places to have a good time_ had gotten them into a club with a larger group, somehow flouncing the ID rules that Yuuri was certain should have gotten them stopped at the door. He’d bounced from the entrance directly to the dance floor, and dragged Yuuri with him in the process, bypassing the bar entirely. Thailand’s drinking age was 20, and in the states it was 21, and evidently both of those things were reasonably well enforced, as far as Yuuri could tell.

 _Besides,_ he thought, darkly, _Phichit can’t get caught drinking. He’d let his whole country down._ A cynical part of him wondered whether or not the Thai gymnast had picked his battles afterall.

On the dance floor he’d been unable to let go and just enjoy the music, in spite of the relative novelty of finally hearing the vocalists croon to him in his own language, after a year away from home. _Careful who sees you,_ he’d reminded himself, bitterly, even as Phichit tried to draw him in closer. Phichit was a _snuggler_. Phichit had no respect for personal space. The Japanese press were already having a field day with Yuuri’s meltdown in qualifiers; he didn’t need to fuel the flames by letting the worst of the tabloids run a headline insisting he was gay.

And yet. And yet. And yet. They didn’t seem to be the only two men dancing together on the dance floor, though the couples, as far as Yuuri could tell, among the flashing lights, seemed mixed.

He supposed Phichit was to blame for this, too.

 _You could get a drink._ The drinking age in Japan was technically 20. Technically, because Yuuri didn’t know a single person who hadn’t started drinking in high school, fetching beers from vending machines or picking up their liquor from convenience stores that literally never carded the way people did back in the states. It was a voice he knew he shouldn’t have listened to, this little whisper. It wouldn’t be a good thing to bring any more embarrassment to his teammates or his coaches.

Except his anxiety shouted louder, was deafening.

 _Just one drink. To take the edge off._ “I need some water,” he told Phichit, nearly shouting in his friend’s ear over the thrum of the music. In response he got a mega-watt smile and every indication that Phichit wasn’t quitting any time soon. Yuuri gave what he hoped was a convincing smile in response, and then he purposefully let the crowd separate them.

 

  - - -

 

 **[Text Messages, Viktor’s Phone]**  

 **Christophe:** You get to Tokyo yet?  
**Viktor:** Landed a few days ago. Been sightseeing. You?  
**Christophe:** Staying in the village.  
**Christophe:** Did you know they’re giving out a hundred thousand condoms this year?  
**Viktor:** … I do now.  
**Christophe:** I’ve heard good things about Shinjuku.  
**Viktor:** Oh? Coming tonight?  
**Christophe:** One hopes. I’m staying in. Need to see about a swimmer. Very inspired by those abs.  
**Christophe:** Don’t do anyone I wouldn’t do, Vitya. xoxo

 

  - - -

 

 _That,_ Viktor thought, _was casting a rather wide net._ And somehow just like Christophe, who moved through life in a series of cresting waves, forever on the prowl for his next great peak, his next challenge, the next terrific ride. They’d become friends working with a non-profit that helped locate and help young athletes throughout Europe; the strange mentorship program that currently saw Viktor saddled with a budding junior gymnast currently sitting out the Tokyo competition because he _wasn’t quite old enough._ Yuri Plisetsky was one of Yakov’s, now, but he hadn’t been when they’d first met. Back then he’d been a furious pre-teen in a second-hand tiger hoodie, and he’d been struggling to secure enough practice time to really shine in Moscow, in spite of all of his Grandfather’s support. 

 _Bunch of cowards,_ Yuri Plisetsky had cursed before Viktor had left, dropping in on the teen in Moscow on his way to the airport. Yuri’d sat with his feet thrown up on his desk, defiant, turning over his junior world championship medal in a hand to inspect it for dust. It was gold, just the way Viktor’s had been at his age. _They’re just afraid I’d wipe the floor with all of them. Guang Hong has to sit out, too. Bet you China sucks without him…_

 _Rules are rules, Yurotchka._ Viktor had smiled, and pat him on the head, which the teen had reacted to with a vicious swipe so very akin to the cats he clearly loved. _I missed the podium when I went to my first olympics in Turin, you know. Build your strength. You’ll have your chance in Vancouver._

 _I hate it when you call me that,_ the teenager had grumbled, but he’d put his medal away, and fixed Viktor with his glare instead. _Have a good time in Tokyo doing your stupid torch stuff or whatever._

 _Stupid torch stuff_ was still several days away, but with Christophe expected to do well in all-arounds, Viktor figured he’d repay his friend the favor of two years before by coming to watch the gymnasts early. Christophe had traveled an even greater distance to see Viktor win his first gold in Beijing. It was the very least he could do in return. He had a long program for the upcoming season to finish choreographing, but inspiration had been slow to settle around one concrete theme. _Take a break,_ Christophe had advised, in a rare moment of seriousness. _Maybe watching the Games in Tokyo will revive your competitive spirit._

Viktor missed Christophe now. His friend was notoriously competitive and would’ve been a great help in overcoming the barrier Viktor faced now, as one of only a handful of white faces in a crowded club, and with zero ability to speak Japanese, no less. Christophe had a tendency to both start and finish informal dance competitions and never heeded such trifles as _when_ or _where_ he could start them. There was no language barrier the Swiss gymnast hadn’t been able to overcome with sheer charisma. Viktor would have liked the excuse of Christophe’s intuition and impulsiveness now, but in the meanwhile a drink would have to do instead. Something to settle in. He made an impulsive order for something someone else was drinking, a pretty shade of green, both sweet and sour at the same time. Curiosity had struck. _Surprise me,_ Viktor had said. He liked surprises. The ice skater took a first sip, appreciative, and it was just after the second that someone bumped into his back.

“Sumimasen!” Viktor had no idea what that meant, but it sounded like an apology, and so he turned to acknowledge it properly. “I mean, sorry — “ Standing in front of him was a young man in a black t-shirt, his hair slicked back, face a strange study in contradictions. It was all angles, and still all softness, and Viktor Nikiforov had never seen someone who could be impossibly _both_ at those things at exactly the same time. More fascinating were the mahogany lights in his dark eyes, and the way they made Viktor think of what fires looked like, when they were on their very last embers.

The way they simmered before dying.

Yuuri Katsuki, who was well and properly _drunk,_ leaned in, brushing back Viktor’s bangs for a rare look at both of his blue eyes, catching them in-between the lightning bolts of flashing lights in the club. “You ‘ave prettyyy eyes,” he slurred in English, for the benefit of the foreigner, with a tilt of his head. “Y’wanna dance?”

 

  - - -

_August 8, 2012_

**[Text Messages; Yuuri’s Phone]**

**Phichit:** YUUURI. Where did you go last night?  
**Phichit** : …  
**Phichit:** Last I saw you were out on the dance floor  
**Phichit:** WAKE UP GOSH  
**Phichit:** Inquiring minds o( ≧∇≦o)  
**Yuuri:** … got a little drunk  
**Yuuri:** and left  
**Yuuri:** sorry!

 

  - - - 

 

Yuuri wasn’t sure he wanted to explain it, the way he’d come to with a pounding headache in an unfamiliar hotel room as sunlight snuck through the cracks in the screens lowered over the windows. Alarm had raced through him, then, more urgent than any of the symptoms of his hangover, and he’d scrambled to sit up, to try to piece together facts.

Fact one: he’d changed clothes. He was in a sleeping yukata, again; the hotel’s, evidently, but his clothes were neatly and carefully folded over the couch. He’d woken up by himself in a twin bed; the room itself had two of them. The other one looked slept in. Surely that was a good sign. The shower was running in the bathroom, though, and that was a bad sign, the _worst_. He needed to get his bearings. Padding over to the window, Yuuri peeked past the shade, blinking down at the Imperial Gardens below. Ginza. He was in Ginza.

Judging by the view alone, this was a very nice hotel.

He blinked, ignoring the protest of his slept-in contacts, and raked his fingers through his hair, scrambling to get dressed.

“Yuuri?” Accented English, coming from the bathroom. It sounded familiar. Summoned flickers of memory: of silver hair, so soft to the touch; the mercurial flash of cerulean blue eyes. There had been a cab, and he’d constantly crept closer, had felt the press of patient fingers at his wrists, carefully re-arranging him. He remembered an elevator, the way he’d clumsily pressed his lips to the elegant hollow of a man’s throat.

The revelation of that, of  _kissing_ sent heat all over his body, from the tips of his toes to his ears, and then the voice called again _._ “Are you awake?” Silence. “I’ll be out in a minute —“

_Did I just sleep with a stranger?_

Panic and bile rose in his throat. He’d never slept with _anyone._ His friends at college always talked about it. Every week some new relationship was forming or unraveling. Even back in Hasetsu, Yuuko had gone and fallen for Takeshi, of all people. In high school, he’d tried to date a girl once, had even gone as far as kissing her. He’d felt _nothing_ and it had terrified him, sent him into Minako’s dance studio for hours trying to figure out what was  _wrong_ with him.

Everyone else seemed to fall in and out of love so easily, so naturally.

Katsuki Yuuri loved gymnastics and katsudon and his dog. He loved his family. In a way, he supposed he loved his friends. He didn’t love _anyone_ the way all the songs and stories said he was supposed to. He’d broken it off with the girl, back then, terrified by the emptiness of his own heart. Used the excuse that had stayed with him ever since, even at Michigan.

International gymnastics was a marathon of one contest after another. He was too busy for dating.

A pen and paper were left on the room’s desk, and he raced to them, left a note. _Coward,_ some part of Yuuri insisted. This, though, after the disaster of qualifying, couldn’t possibly be news.

_I HAVE TO GO. SORRY._

 

   - - -

 

**[Text Messages; Viktor’s Phone]**

**Christophe:** Well?  
**Viktor:** I’ll tell you about it later.

 

    - - -

 

“I thought it was just the abs,” Christophe explained over a bowl of ramen, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. “Clearly I hadn’t paid enough attention to his _hips_ …” A slow blink followed. “Viktor. Viktor Nikiforov. Earth to Viktor.” 

“Sorry…”

“You’re on a whole different planet today. What the hell happened?”

Viktor stirred, subtly troubled in a way Christophe was _never_ allowed to see. It was hard to learn anything about Viktor Nikiforov that couldn’t be read in an article about figure skating, in a magazine. He was a living legend. European champion, world champion, gold medalist. An incredible choreographer. Could’ve had a promising career in ballet, according to his early teachers, if the rink hadn’t gotten to him first. An artist at heart. Viktor was passionate and focused, when it came to his career, but in his own way he was also wayward; forever looking for his next inspiration. _Drifting._ And yet he had the kind of accolades Christophe could only dream of; his name was going to be in the record books for years, and he had no intention of retiring anytime soon. They competed in completely different sports and still Christophe felt like he was chasing after the Russian’s shadow. To see _this_ , though, this _vulnerability_ : it was a rarity, something Viktor rarely consciously allowed.

He had an impeccable public face. A heart-shaped smile that had charmed millions. A secret carefully kept from the Russian public which only very few were aware of, Christophe included. Some days he suspected he’d only been brought into the cone of secrecy, in regards to Viktor’s sexuality, because of that one time in Vienna, and even then something like the _real_ Viktor had eluded him completely; had never gone further than the one messy make-out Christophe had started just to get a reaction, to stir up some shit. He'd gotten a reaction, back then, he supposed, but they hadn't really _clicked_ in terms of chemistry, and because he suspected neither one of them cared to try and cultivate a thing that wasn't there, Christophe had moved on without hard feelings. It wasn’t in his nature to dwell on things that weren’t meant to be.

Viktor conducted a series of carefully orchestrated public relationships instead. A Russian ballerina had been the latest, Yakov’s ex-wife’s niece, or something like that. People Christophe had watched Viktor Nikiforov try to love, in his own way. Except that in some strange way, Viktor was already _taken,_ married to the ice, to the graces of winter. Everything else always seemed to come in second in the chambers of his heart, which were colder than Christophe thought anyone knew to expect. “… I met someone last night.” His eyes, as clear and bright as the Mediterranean sea, shone momentarily, and it struck Christophe this was the first time he might’ve ever called them stormy, except perhaps in some performances, whenever Viktor was acting, when it suited him. “He was …”

How could Viktor explain it? The way a total stranger had been both hard and soft, gentle and firm; the utter inexperience and hunger in his kiss, like he’d gone a whole lifetime never knowing his own spark. Viktor tended to draw people in, was well aware of his own siren song, and this almost- _boy_ had come to him ready to drown, eager. He’d needed to be careful, ever wary of cameras, kept them separate in the taxi and carefully navigated in and out of the elevator of the Hotel Peninsula. 

 _I’m Viktor,_ he’d hummed against the other man’s lips, once they were behind closed doors, sitting on the couch with his fingers spilling over the stranger’s knees. Viktor was nowhere near as drunk as the other man was, and yet the kiss alone threatened its own kind of intoxication; every one of them was different, each their own kind of surprise. _mmmYuri_ had been the answer, and he’d laughed softly, because _of course_ there’d be another Yuri in his life, a new one, as completely different from the teenager in everything except something that read a little bit like a hunger.

A certain kind of starvation for love, perhaps.

Then _this_ Yuri had nearly drifted off in his arms, mumbling apologies that barely qualified as English, and Viktor had chuckled at the ridiculousness of his life, gotten him into pajamas, and put him to bed. There was time still to unravel the mystery, he’d told himself, then. He could be patient.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I didn’t have the kind of night you had. He took off before I could talk to him properly this morning, and I’m not going to find him again the middle of the Tokyo Olympics.”

It saddened him, that, to think about the subtle smolder he’d seen in those dark, expressive eyes, and to never have the chance to try to fan those flames, to explore their nuance.

“You get a picture at least?” Christophe nudged him, teasing, and Viktor sighed, handing over his phone. He’d taken a selfie with Yuri asleep against his shoulder, just before depositing him into the room’s second bed. Something to tease him about in the morning, he’d thought.

How little he’d known.

“… Viktor,” Christophe said slowly, turning the phone sideways as though to give it an even more thorough inspection.

“What?” Was ever-smiling, unflappable Viktor Nikiforov _grumpy?_ Christophe contemplated teasing him further, dragging the moment out to truly savor his momentary power over a man who could _never be beaten._

He decided against it. “This is a photo of Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Yuuri Katsuki?”

“Japan’s premiere gymnast.”

 

    - - -

 

**[Yuuri’s Instagram]**

_**v-nikiforov** has followed you!_

 

 

   - - -

 

v-nikiforov?  
  
…  
  
. . .

He’d come clean to Phichit in a panic. _I went home last night with someone from the club and that someone is apparently Viktor Nikiforov who is the best figure skater on planet earth and Phichit I don’t remember what I did and —_

 

   - - -

 

**[Yuuri’s Instagram; messages]**

**v-nikiforov  
** can we talk? 

 **v-nikiforov  
** let me get you a coffee, at least

_(Phichit, staring over Yuuri’s shoulder: “Well at least he’s trying to help you figure it out?”)_

**v-nikiforov**  
i can meet you in the village

 **katsuki-don  
** no

 **katsuki-don  
** i can’t do this right now

 **katsuki-don  
** i need to focus on floor

_(Phichit, now on his own phone, the very picture of innocence: “Okay, Yuuri, but: have you seen this photo from his junior championships? I’m pretty sure even Leo’d change teams…”_

**[Viktor’s Instagram]**

_**phichit+chu** has followed you!_

**[Viktor’s Instagram; messages]**

**phichit+chu  
** break my roommate’s heart and I will make you wish for death by a thousand hamsters (; ･`д･´)

 **v-nikiforov  
**. . . hamsters . . .?

 **phichit+chu  
** he’s having a rough time

 **phichit+chu  
** good luck (ノ^∇^)

_after midnight, August 11, 2012_

**katsuki-don  
** i’m sorry

 **katsuki-don  
** did we sleep together

 **katsuki-don  
** i don’t remember

 **katsuki-don  
** i need to know

 **v-nikiforov  
** absolutely not

 **v-nikiforov  
** never like that

 **katsuki-don  
** ok

 **katsuki-don  
** thank you

 **v-nikiforov  
** give me your number

 **katsuki-don  
** why

 **v-nikiforov  
** you don’t want to?

 

    - - -

 

 _Damn._ Yuuri threw his phone back on the nightstand, irritable, determined to _go to sleep,_ and reached for it five minutes later to punch his number in. Floor finals were calling his name in the morning, and for once that wasn’t the only reason he hadn’t been able to sleep. 

Viktor’s blue eyes had haunted the edges of his thoughts, and he couldn’t even remember them clearly, properly, the way all the pictures said those eyes were meant to be remembered. Phichit had gone on a googling spree, had learned everything there was to know about Viktor Nikiforov. Yuuri didn’t admit that, his memory now jolted by sobriety, he already remembered.

He’d been glued to the television, back in Hasetsu, watching Ice Skating finals in 2010. Viktor Nikiforov’s free skate had been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He remembered, though, that those eyes had reminded him of oceans up close, that he’d wanted to learn all he could about the ways they shifted and churned. That the cerulean brights of them had made him think of the placid surface of hot springs back home, of swimming pools, of everything that had ever lured him for a dive inwards, promising hidden depths.

Viktor had beamed, standing atop the Olympic podium, and he’d kissed his gold medal, and broken a million different hearts.

The phone was vibrating in Yuuri’s hand moments after he’d sent the message. With his roommate for the Olympics properly asleep on the other side of the room, Yuuri glared down at the screen. He didn’t recognize the country code, which meant it was probably Russian, which meant answering this was a terrible idea.

He did it anyway.

“… Yuuri desu.” What was one more terrible idea at the end of a string of them, at this, his terrible Olympics?

“It’s Viktor.”

“Saa ... I figured that.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“That obvious, huh?” With a surreptitious glance towards his roommate, Yuuri put his feet into his house-shoes, lined up near the bed, and left their room, walking down the hall to a lounge on his floor. The Olympic village glittered and glistened through the window.

Viktor chuckled, but it felt a little calculated; a bit like the show he put on, day in, day out. _I wish you hadn’t taken off,_ he wanted to say, _we could have talked._ Talking to Christophe had put Katsuki Yuuri into some perspective. Afterwards he’d gone and found the replays of men’s qualifying, had made himself watch what his Swiss friend had described as a first-class meltdown.

Christophe had not been wrong about that.

Then, on Christophe’s recommendation, he’d found Yuuri’s highlight reel, and he’d watched it instead, and he’d been captivated, had googled for the kanji to properly spell Katsuki’s name, had gone looking for other videos in Japanese; had analyzed them like Yuuri was a figure skater, like any of the tumbles of gymnastics could be the same thing as a triple lutz, or a quad combination.

“Tell me what you love about gymnastics,” Viktor said instead.

“Why?” Defensive, cautious. This Yuuri was prickly and fragile, very far removed from the one who’d hooked a finger under his chin the night before, and insisted on a dance. _Be careful with him, Viktor,_ Christophe had warned him, his competitive spirit somehow extending protectiveness over the Japanese gymnast he’d be competing against in Floor finals. _I want to win outright. Don’t spoil the contest._

“Come on,” Viktor murmured, pinching his forehead with an air of bemusement, “it won’t hurt.”

Yuuri sucked in a deep breath and began to explain the way he’d felt as a little kid, on a trampoline; the way he hadn’t wanted to get into baseball or soccer but dance, gymnastics. The way sometimes in the studio he could finally lose some of himself, or how in the middle of a tumbling pass, outrun and shake off the chains of his anxiety.

“I used to feel closer to myself,” he murmured, distantly.

“Used to?”

“Not right now.”

“Believe it or not, I think I know the feeling.” Viktor hummed, thinking about the long program that was still eluding him, wouldn’t solidify. Like smoke trickling through his fingertips.

Yuuri was like that, holding himself just beyond his reach.

Yuuri was silent for a moment, contemplative, determined to avoid what the Americans all called _the elephant in the room,_ even though Phichit had insisted that it was a silly thing to say in a country whose only elephants lived in zoos. “What do you love about ice skating?”

So Viktor explained the ice and its grace and its ease.

“I love surprises,” he admitted, then. “The ice is full of surprises. _You_ surprised me, Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Me?” Yuuri echoed this, in near disbelief. “I’m the most unsurprising person in the world,” he insisted next, stubbornly, and his denial was rewarded with a laugh. It sounded _fond._ That had to be his imagination working overtime. Viktor Nikiforov was in another league of athlete entirely, a universe away, and he could not possibly have been _fond_ of Yuuri Katsuki. 

“Will you let me surprise you, tomorrow?”

“I hate surprises.” Yuuri planned for every contingency. Tomorrow’s floor routine was sure to be another failure, and he’d already imagined another press conference, apologizing, admitting that the stress had been too much to handle.

“Do you?” Something strange again, in the Russian’s voice. Yuuri didn’t dare call it a purr.

“Mostly. Usually. Generally.”

“Will you let me surprise you, tomorrow?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Viktor said, and this time, to his increasing dread, Yuuri thought he detected a certain element of _triumph._ “It would ruin the surprise.” He paused a beat, hummed speculatively. “Do you think you can win tomorrow?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then I will have to believe for you,” Viktor declared. “Can you believe that I can believe that you can win tomorrow?”

“… Yes,” Yuuri said slowly, vaguely recalling the warm flashes of Viktor’s eyes, nice as the sea, all-encompassing. He’d forgotten himself, for a while, looking into them. He remembered that much. “But only because you’re crazy,” he added, smartly. 

Viktor laughed again. Yuuri thought he could learn to like it, that laughter. No: he liked it already. Everything about Viktor Nikiforov was likable. Nothing about Katsuki Yuuri was. “Maybe I am. Very good. Yuuri Katsuki, good luck tomorrow,” he said. “Now go back to bed. I believe you can win. Good night.”

He wandered back into his room, still puzzling over the phone in his hand, scrolling idly through Instagram:

 **v-nikiforov** fond of this view #tokyo2012

It was a picture of the view from his hotel room. Tokyo glittered at night. He missed Hasetsu, but Yuuri could concede that much to the city’s beauty. At night it lit up like a whole galaxy of stars.

_katsuki-don likes this._

Yuuri fell asleep still turning over Viktor’s words, like they’d passed from his ear into his mind and were slowly assimilating into his bones from the moment they'd been breathed to life. _I believe you can win._

 

   - - -

 

_August 11, 2012_

 

He did not win.

Not quite.

 

_“Canadian upstart Jean-Jacques Leroy has pulled off a stunning upset in the Tokyo Summer Olympics, winning a surprising individual gold with a flawless performance for Team Canada over veteran and favorite Christophe Giacometti! Giacometti finished second after taking a deduction for a tumbling pass that finished just out of bounds. Host country hero Katsuki Yuuri redeemed himself with a strong performance and a new personal best, following his disastrous turn in the Qualifying rounds, and has a bronze medal to show for his efforts after all …”_

 

He could barely remember it. He’d gotten up on the floor, raised his arms in the air, turned to salute the judges, and … 

There, sitting behind the judges, silver-haired Viktor Nikiforov in the first row, sitting next to what looked like a row of Swiss fans. _Giacometti’s family?_ He looked smart, in a sharp blazer, a suit as tailored as the one Yuuri only halfway remembered, and he smiled his heart-shaped smile and unfolded a poster.

#BELIEVE.

He’d smiled and flashed a peace sign and Katsuki Yuuri had lost himself, thrown under a wave, had tumbled and churned and stood on his head with the momentum of it.

_I believe you can win._

Hours later, after the embrace of his family and Phichit’s spectacular dive tackle, and what must’ve been a dozen different interviews, Katsuki Yuuri finally made it back to his dorm room, and fell onto his sofa, holding his medal up in the light. In his pocket, his phone rumbled ominously, promising a low battery, and Yuuri pulled it out to scan through dozens of different notifications.

 

 **v-nikiforov  
** congratulations.

 **v-nikiforov  
** I knew you could do it

 

    - - -

 

_August 14, 2012_

Viktor Nikiforov walked onto the arena floor in the final stages of Tokyo’s closing ceremonies, amidst a Russian delegation bringing cooler blue lights in their wake. Russian dancers surrounded them, now; his country’s folk music soared overhead.

 _“This year’s Olympics have come to an end,”_ lamented one announcer. _“Here we have the Russian delegation, ready to take on the Olympic torch. Skater Viktor Nikiforov was nominated by his teammates to accept the honor. He’s won multiple European championships, won the Gold medal in Beijing in 2010, won worlds in 2011, and here he is now, accepting the torch on behalf of his hometown ... St. Petersburg, of course, which will be hosting the Winter Games in 2014, where Nikiforov is expected to handily capture gold ...”_

_“What a great moment, Jim. See you in 2014, St. Petersburg!”_

 

_\- - -_

 

**[Yuuri’s Instagram; messages]**

**v-nikiforov  
** will you come?

 **katsuki-don  
** what?

 **v-nikiforov  
** come see me skate, yuu~uuuri

 **katsuki-don  
** where?

 **v-nikiforov  
** in st. petersburg


	2. Made in the USA! Controversy at the NCAA Championships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August 2012 Leo joins Phichit and Yuuri at University of Michigan as a freshman; they compete in various meets throughout the year.  
> October 2012 Viktor skates at Skate Canada  
> January 2013 Viktor competes at the European Championships  
> Late March, 2013 Viktor competes at the World Championships  
> Early April, 2013 Leo, Phichit, and Yuuri take part in the Pacific Rim Championships, along with JJ, Seung-gil, Guang Hong, Georgi, and Yuri.  
> End of April, 2013 the Michigan team competes in the NCAA Championships* in Charlotte, NC.
> 
> *by the way, I’ve picked NCAA schools a bit at random off of their current ranking, not off of any strong opinion or knowledge about what their athletic programs are really like. Apologies if out in the wild wild world of the internet some of the people reading this went to any of those schools and I offend, haha! #it’sfictionyall #jj-style #immaletyoufinishbutjj-styleisthebesthashtaginthiswholestorytrustmeonthat

**[Instagram]**

 

_August 20, 2012_

**lovelifeleo** first day of school! #goblue #wolverines  
_phichit+chu, katsuki-don, ciaociaocialdini, and 14 others like this._

 **phichit+chu** getting a head start at the gym today ┐( ˘_˘)┌ #norestfortheweary  
_katsuki-don, lovelifeleo, and 29 others like this._  
> katsuki-don I have gained seven pounds since the olympics  
> katsuki-don how is this even  
> lovelifeleo no more katsudon for you!  
> katsuki-don (ර൧ර☆)  
> katsuki-don such betrayal

 

**[Yuuri’s Instagram; messages]**

**v-nikiforov  
** back to university?

 **katsuki-don  
** aa, yeah

 **v-nikiforov  
** good luck!

 **katsuki-don  
** you too!

 **v-nikiforov  
** mm?

 **katsuki-don  
** the grand prix series

 **v-nikiforov  
** oh! thanks

 **v-nikiforov**  
sorry i didn’t have a chance to say goodbye before the olympics were over  
we left after the closing ceremonies

 

\- - -

 

 _We?_ We probably meant the Russian delegation, but it was hard to tell sometimes. Viktor’s instagram had been full of pictures of his night out with Christophe after the men’s all arounds, in which the Swiss Gymnast had finally captured Gold. Yuuri had looked through a few of them, of the way they threw their arms around each other so easily, had told himself he wasn’t jealous. Now Viktor was back in Russia, it seemed like, posting short videos of the program he was working on ( _“chasing smoke,”_ a strange name, Yuuri thought, for something on the ice), his poodle, and pictures of things he liked around St. Petersburg.

It was almost like getting to know him. _Almost._

“Yuuri! Put that phone away.” An academic advisor. Everyone in the athletics program had these kinds of meetings. “We’re going to have you test out of Japanese later this semester. It clears the language component in your degree plan, and —”

“No.”

“No? You want to try to study another foreign language? There’s probably still spots open in Spanish…”

The Olympics had ended, somehow, faster than they’d begun. Here he was, back in Ann Arbor, bicycling to school and paying entirely too much for a tiny apartment with Phichit. It felt something a little bit like an ordinary life. The school was too big for him to be just recognized out on the street, the way he had been back home, and anyway Michigan Athletics had other students who’d competed in other sports, Americans like Leo, whose campus celebrity was probably going to far eclipse his and Phichit’s. Nonetheless, he’d taken his friends back to Hasetsu for two days after the Closing Ceremonies to show them the Hot Springs, to introduce them to the people back home who were making it possible for him to even be here, to pay for such outrageously expensive tuition. Leo had gotten a scholarship, but Leo was a native, even if the University of Michigan was far from home.

Phichit had to try even harder, to make ends meet, but with Phichit it seemed like the whole of Bangkok could be called up to get behind him sometimes, that in the midst of such chaos and controversy in his country a cheerful gymnast was exactly the thing everybody needed to throw their hopes behind.

Taking a language course he could’ve tested out of was just going to add credit hours to the bill. And yet …

 _v-nikiforov  
_ _come see me skate, yuu~uuuri_

 _katsuki-don  
_ _where?_

 _v-nikiforov  
_ _in st. petersburg_

He could hear it in Viktor’s voice. Like they were back on the couch in that hotel room in Ginza. Viktor, the dog person with a purr, Viktor with his heart-shaped mouth, Viktor with eyes he still thought about drowning in.

“I’d like to take Russian,” he said, lifting his eyes to look at the advisor directly. Treacherous heat flickered across the bridge of his nose, his ears; Yuuri could hear the thrum of his own heartbeat, pounding in his chest, his neck, his eardrums. Boom, boom, boom. “We get a lot of tourists, back home. It seems like it’d be useful.”

“Russian? It’ll be very hard to find a class still taking on students —“

It didn’t mean anything, Yuuri told himself. St. Petersburg was a long time off, there was no way he’d be able to afford the trip, or even schedule it, between gymnastic meets, and anyway, Viktor Nikiforov was probably going to forget him and move on with his life. If he did, Yuuri might still have the language, some little piece of the night where for a moment he’d forgotten himself, crashed into another person, _been kissed_ by someone who seemed to actually mean it. “I trust you,” Yuuri said, and he put on a polite smile. “We’ll figure something out.”

Russian, as it turned out, was hard and bewildering, and not three weeks in was he mournfully registering for extra tutoring, complaining about all his poor life choices to Leo, who had taken the smarter path, and tested out of Spanish. He’d tried to complain to Phichit. Phichit had responded by unrolling a Viktor Nikiforov poster he’d somehow bought off of ebay, and pinning it over Yuuri’s desk. He’d nearly died of embarrassment.They had a strict _nobody comes in here_ policy about the bedroom anyway. _They_ being Yuuri, who was intensely private, and Phichit, who put up with all his nonsense.

Still: the poster hadn’t come down.

 

\- - -

 

_October 23, 2012_

September flew by and then most of October followed swift on its heels. Viktor skated in Winnipeg, the closest geographically they’d been in months, and he’d won gold there, which had surprised nobody, least of all Katsuki Yuuri. It hadn’t been broadcast in the states, and so Yuuri’d settled for watching the live feed with Phichit and Leo, sitting on their second-hand couch while Leo crashed at the apartment, trying to share a bowl of popcorn.

After a while Phichit went to make a second bowl that he could _actually_ share with Leo; Yuuri, once again, had eaten his way through his feelings. Viktor took a short interview from the Kiss and Cry:

_Your coach tells us that developing this long program gave you some trouble, over the summer._

_It took a while to come together,_ Viktor confirmed, turning the heat of his attention towards the camera. Yuuri’s stomach churned, and it couldn’t have been hunger. _A good friend of mine suggested I take a break during the Tokyo Olympics, and what I found there was …_

_Yes?_

_A surprise. It eluded me, a little bit. Smoke does that, you know._

_Congratulations, again, Viktor. We look forward to seeing you in the Rostelecom Cup next month._

_Thank you._

 

\- - -

 

**[Viktor’s Instagram; messages]**

**katsuki-don  
** wow! that was amazing!

 

\- - -

 

Yuuri’s phone rang in his hand, half an hour later, when they were still only half-listening to the analysts on the live feed preview the rest of the Grand Prix series; the roster of skaters due next week at Skate America in Minneapolis, for instance, or whether or not anyone was going to be successful shaking Viktor off of the trail in his quest for another world championship.

Phichit was hunched over his shoulder instantly, summoned back into alertness by the ringtone Yuuri’d assigned Viktor’s number on a whim. “Oh my god is that him? It’s him, isn’t it?”

“I’m going for a walk,” Yuuri announced abruptly, grabbing his earbuds, racing to the front door to shove his feet into his sneakers, to answer just in time. He thought he heard Phichit after him, making a noise that sounded suspiciously like a _cackle_.

“Viktor?”

“Yuuri!” He sounded relieved. Viktor Nikiforov, all-but-unbeatable in figure skating, _relieved,_ because Yuuri Katsuki had answered the phone just before voicemail.

… He was imagining things again.

“I didn’t realize you’d be watching,” Viktor murmured, and it sounded like he’d stepped outside, because the background noises creating an undercurrent of churn on the line dimmed suddenly, became silent.

“Y-yeah! Phichit and Leo and I, we uh. We watched the feed. You were great. You were — you were —“

“I wrote it for you, Yuuri.”

“V-Viktor?”

“That long program… The elusiveness of it, the embers. It’s all yours.”

A horn sounded, vicious and loud, reminding Yuuri Katsuki that it was a terrible idea to stop like an idiot in the middle of a crosswalk in Ann Arbor, Michigan just because Viktor Nikiforov had stunned him into silence.

“Yuuri? Yuuri are you there?”

He jogged across the street to the corner, felt the prickle of tears in his eyes. “Viktor, I don’t .. I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.” Yuuri knew that much. In the midst of his sea of disbelief, that a performance like _that_ could have had anything on earth to do with _him,_ he knew that he liked everything about it; about the sinuous way Viktor moved, the way he’d made his performance tenuous, the way smoke was, and had still skated its stylistic uncertainties with sheer confidence, with the beauty and athleticism his judges knew to expect.

“I like it very much.” _I like you,_ he wanted to shout into the phone; _I would like anything you do._ Those were ridiculous and irrational things to say, though, and these moments were precious. He couldn’t chase Viktor off with his nerves again, the same way he’d almost chased away his dreams, back in Tokyo.

Except for Viktor’s sea of belief. Viktor who was still talking to him now.

That was a miracle, too. Like the bronze medal he’d given to his parents, back in Hasetsu, with a promise to change its color in Vancouver, four years later. _I’m going to work harder. You'll see. I’ll make you proud._

His mother had looked at him with such shining eyes, and his father had hugged him. _Yuuri, you idiot,_ Mari told him, piling onto the family hug as Vicchan pawed away at his knees, _everyone is already proud of you._

“Good,” said Viktor, and his voice had that sound again, all colors of contentment, somehow. Yuuri had never known content had a color. Surprisingly, it was a certain shade of blue. Viktor Nikiforov had said it himself, though: he was full of surprises. “Start there.”

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

_November 29, 2012_

**phichit+chu** this handsome fella turns the big 2-0 todayː̗̀ ٩꒰ꋃ꒱وː̖́@katsuki-don  
_lovelifeleo, mari-chan, v-nikiforov, Jjleroy!15 and 32 others like this._  
> mari-chan おたんじょうび　おめでとう。お誕生日おめでとう  
> madonna-yuukohappy birthday! did you get the gift takeshi & I sent?  
> singsingswing おたんじょうび　おめでとう　ございます。お誕生日おめでとうございます。may all your birthday wishes come true, katsuki-san!  
> Jjleroy!15 THE END OF THE TEENAGE YEARS EH  
> Jjleroy!15 WELCOME TO THE BIG LEAGUES  
> phichit+chu you’re only like four months older, JJ ੧| ‾́ ～ ‾́ |੭  
> yuri-plisetsky идиоты.  
> katsuki-don HEY.

 

**[Yuuri’s voicemail]**

**_“_** _It’s Viktor. You’re probably sleeping, huh? I keep forgetting about timezones”_ — something muffled in the background, which sound suspiciously like Yuri Plisetsky shouting ‘VITYA, TELL THEM THEY’RE ALL IDIOTS’ in Russian with Viktor’s hand clamped over his mouth, not that this was, in any way, common — _“ow! Yurotchka — sorry, anyway. I hope you had a good birthday. I’ll try and call back tomorrow, if you’re not too busy. What is it that your coach says? Ciao?”_

 

**[Yuuri’s messages, instagram]**

**v-nikiforov**  
are you going home for the holiday break

 **katsuki-don  
** not this year

 **katsuki-don**  
phichit and I are trying to save our families some money

 **katsuki-don  
** (ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣﹏ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣)

 

 **v-nikiforov**  
I could help?

 **katsuki-don**  
NO

 **katsuki-don  
** sorry, viktor

 

\- - -

 

He’d blamed it on NCAA rules about athletes and gifts, the idea that Yuuri couldn’t go around just accepting plane tickets from anyone, but it’d been something more complicated than that. Viktor Nikiforov had made himself into a full-time athlete, a professional; had all kinds of sponsorships, kept popping up into magazines.

Was it too much to hope that he’d someday be an equal, and not see himself in the same way Vicchan had been as a puppy, always too eager at the table, begging for scraps?

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

_December 25, 2012_

**lovelifeleo** I have just introduced @phichit+chu @katsuki-don to the wonder that is homemade tamales for Christmas #mamamakesthemright #betterthankatsudon?  
_phichit+chu, singsingswing, ciaociaocialdini and 26 others like this._  
> katsuki-don NOTHING IS BETTER THAN KATSUDON  
> phichit+chu calm down, yuuri ( ب_ب )  
> singsingswing merīkurisumasu!

 

 **phichit+chu** LOOK AT THIS HAT ヽ(;^o^ヽ) #christmasinla #phichit+claus  
_lovelifeleo, v-nikiforov, katsuki-don, and 89 others like this.  
_ > yuri-plisetsky идиоты.

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** new hoodie #christmas #thatsmygrandpa  
_v-nikiforov likes this._

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** “let’s go ice skating,” he said. “it’ll be fun,” he said. @v-nikiforov   
_v-nikiforov likes this._  
> v-nikiforov I had plenty of fun, yurotchka  
> v-nikiforov (fun watching you fall)  
> yuri-plisetsky I only went because it’s your birthday  
> yuri-plisetsky идиот.

 

\- - -

 

“Huh,” Yuuri muttered, stretched out on the couch with a half-asleep Phichit nestled up against his arm. Leo had them watching a parade of James Bond movies; evidently one of the television networks played them over and over again during the holiday season. Yuuri wasn’t sure that was very Christmas-y, per se, but Leo seemed to be the expert. His whole family had gone to midnight mass the day before, and Phichit and Yuuri had sat in the back of the church, watching something he wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever understand. When the Priest came up to the lecturn to begin the sermon for the evening, Phichit pulled out his phone, and scrolled through picture after picture of big, golden temples for Yuuri’s benefit. Yuuri had learned nothing about Christmas, but he had learned a fair amount about Bangkok. 

_Someday we’re going to have a premiere-level gymnastics show back home,_ Phichit whispered, mindful of a woman two rows away who kept giving them the evil eye. _That’s my dream. Then I’ll take you and Leo all over the country. Phuket, Chiang-Mai._

“What is it?” Leo asked, engrossed in the film’s critical moment. It seemed, to Yuuri, like Bond’s fancy explosive pen was about to come in terribly handy.

“Viktor’s with the Plisetsky kid for Christmas,” Yuuri murmured, reluctantly adding a _like_ to the Russian brat’s post about figure skating.

 

\- - -

 

_Flashback, Viktor + Yuri, 2009_

“You’re lucky your Grandfather gives you so much support,” Viktor murmured quietly, on the tail end of one of the kid’s practices with Yakov. The old man had come by early to watch the start of the practice, shouting words of encouragement, until work had called. _You’ll get him home, Nikiforov?_ Of course, Viktor had agreed; that’s what the whole mentorship thing was for. It gave them a chance like this, riding in the back seat of a cab in Moscow. 

“Yeah …” Taciturn as ever, Yuri flipped through his phone, turning on a game that he played sometimes; something to do with birds and pigs, Viktor wasn’t really sure. 

“My mother was a dancer,” Viktor said idly, looking out the window with a small tight smile. “Until she married my father.”

“Aren’t your parents divorced?”

“Mm.”

 

\- - -

 

**[Viktor’s messages, instagram]**

_December 25, 2012_

** katsuki-don  
** I didn’t know it’s your birthday!

 ** katsuki-don  
** happy birthday

 ** katsuki-don  
** can I send you something?

_December 26, 2012_

** v-nikiforov  
** haha, i don’t really talk about it much

 ** v-nikiforov  
** sure!

 ** v-nikiforov  
** you know i love surprises, yuuri

 

\- - -

 

Of course, that had begged the question of just _what_ he was going to get Viktor Nikiforov, the man who had everything. Yuuri sighed, and flipped back to a video Viktor must have made Plisetsky’s grandfather record of their skating outing, at the rink in Moscow. Viktor glided easily and slowly backwards, trying to instruct a wobbly Yuri on the basics of skating. He swooped forward suddenly, attempting to adjust Yuri’s posture, and the teen fell over again, swearing up a storm in Russian that Yuuri, for all his extra classes, still couldn’t quite understand. Viktor threw his head back and laughed, his expression suddenly brighter than it had been before, and then he rubbed his hands together for warmth and pitched them back into the depths of his trench-coat for warmth. 

_Gloves,_ Yuuri thought, and he shivered, thinking about Viktor’s fingerprints.

_Viktor’s hands should never be cold._

 

\- - -

 

_December 31, 2012_

It was Phichit’s fault _again_. And also a tiny bit Leo’s. Yuuri had insisted that he did not want to go out for New Year’s Eve. He certainly did not want to be at a crowded house party back in Ann Arbor, with both gymnastics team and at least half the people Phichit knew from the theater department. Everyone kept asking him about his resolutions for the new year, and Yuuri had ground his teeth, because he hated New Year’s Resolutions; didn’t need a special holiday to make a list of all the things he wanted to try to do and then spectacularly fail at. 

_10, 9, 8 …_

Leo had a girlfriend, now; Phichit had told Yuuri he was going to be brave, and find someone to kiss.

Yuuri had found a spot on the corner of the couch that he hoped he’d be able to disappear into before anyone got any ideas.

_7, 6, 5 …_

His phone was ringing in his pocket.

Viktor.

The speed at which he made it to the front door and out into the hall probably could’ve won Katsuki Yuuri a place on Michigan’s track and field team. 

“Happy New Year,” Viktor said, and in the distance Yuuri could hear the sound of fireworks.

“Happy New Year, Viktor.” What time was it in Russia? Yuuri did the calculation in his head, half-smiled. Viktor had done the math, had _thought_ of him. It was flattering, almost as flattering as the last time they’d spoken on the phone, months ago, before his first meet of the year, even. 

“I got my new gloves,” Viktor added, as Yuuri sank into the simple joy of listening to Viktor Nikiforov, talking to _him._

“Yeah?”

“They’re a perfect fit.”

 

\- - -

 

**[Phichit’s messages, instagram]**

_January 3, 2013_

** v-nikiforov  
** who all is competing in pacific rim?

 ** phichit+chu  
** uhhhhhh

 ** phichit+chu  
** that guy JJ

 ** phichit+chu  
** guang hong is coming up from juniors I think

 ** phichit+chu  
** korea’s new guy

 **phichit+chu  
** (the brainiac one)

 ** phichit+chu  
** um

 ** phichit+chu  
** why?

 ** v-nikiforov  
** are you competing?

 ** phichit+chu  
** OH, YEAH

 ** phichit+chu  
** we all are, ciao ciao’s gonna come along

 ** phichit+chu  
** you better not be spying on us for the enemy, viktor

 **phichit+chu**  
plisetsky’s a menace!  ( >д<)

 ** phichit+chu  
** hello?

 ** phichit+chu  
** viktor?

 

\- - -

 

_January 12, 2013_

**[MGoBlue.com]**

_Leo de la Iglesia, the newest recruit to the Michigan men’s gymnastics team, made a splash at yesterday’s Windy City Invitational, setting a new personal best on his signature event, parallel bars, and finishing in second place on horizontal bar in a rotation arrangement newly introduced by Head Coach Celestino Cialdini._

_The team, currently ranked no. 12, came just short of their season goal of 440 total points with a respectable showing of 430.150, enough to defeat No. 18 Illinois. De la Iglesia’s fellow Olympians, Yuuri Katsuki (Team Japan) and PhichitChulanont (Team Thailand), each captured event titles of their own: Katsuki in floor, his signature event, with a 15.250, and Chulanont with a pair of vaults both over the 15 point mark. Relatively weaker showings on the Pommel Horse and the Rings may have Coach Celestino thinking about the team’s overall endurance, but he has to be happy with this first showing with this relatively young team._

_Celestino wrote off the results on the 2011-2012 season, capped with a disappointing loss to Penn State and a finish just outside of the sweet sixteen qualifiers for the NCAA Men’s Gymnastics Championships as a rebuilding year. So far, his team’s off to a much brighter start._

 

\- - -

 

The team’s energy had finally run out, it seemed, at the airport. All around them athletes in blue and gold lounged in airport chairs, half-asleep, waiting to fly back to Ann Arbor. Leo grabbed a seat across from Yuuri, doing his best to ignore that Phichit Chulanont had decided to use his lap as a pillow, and was well on the way to falling asleep before boarding.“Hey, Yuuri, did you see that Vikt —“

“SHHH,” Phichit hissed, without opening his eyes, though he lifted a hand up in the air and waved it in Leo’s face. “He’s not going to look until he’s got a chance to watch it later.”

“Oh, right —“

 

\- - -

 

**isu.org**

_Viktor Nikiforov might not think he can capture smoke, but a flawless performance in his similarly titled long program has propelled the Russian legend to yet another European Championship._

[Highlight Video: Viktor Nikiforov’s Long Program: Chasing Smoke]

 

\- - -

 

Sitting in the Kiss and Cry, Viktor Nikiforov reached down for his poodle-shaped box of tissues, blew his nose, and then put on a pair of dark blue, fingerless gloves, the hood buttoned over the back of his palm. He wiggled his fingers, waved at the camera, and waited:

_It’s a new personal best!_

He grinned, pressed two fingers to his lips, blew a kiss towards the viewers.

A viewer.

_Here’s to you, Yuuri Katsuki._

 

\- - -

 

**[Viktor’s messages, instagram]**

**katsuki-don  
** congratulations!

 **katsuki-don  
** i feel like i send you that all the time, viktor

 **katsuki-don  
** do you know how amazing you are?

 **v-nikiforov  
** do you?

 **katsuki-don  
** do I what?

 **v-nikiforov  
** know how amazing you are

 

\- - -

 

( _“but you are amazing, Yuuri,”_ Viktor protested on a call, a week later. _“You are.”_

The words echoed someplace deep.

Other people had said them before, but this was the first time, the very first, that he could almost believe them.)

 

\- - -

 

_February 14, 2013_

Katsuki Yuuri dreaded Valentine’s Day. He’d faked a cold in the meetings of the alliance club Phichit had finally made him join leading up to the main event, leaving Phichit to haplessly explain his absence (and uselessly, at that: evidently while flustered he’d admitted that he thought, maybe, just maybe, Yuuri Katsuki had a crush on _someone_ and then Yuuri’d gotten seventeen text messages, five of which were variations of Phichit’s interpretation of an apologizing emoticon).

The week before the holiday, even Leo had been stressing out, making reservations for dinner, trying to come up with some version of a date that didn’t end with him and his girlfriend trying to navigate the unspoken rules of the holiday in the college dormitories. Not that Leo had any untoward plans: rather, his roommate had a bad habit of bringing girls back unannounced, and it had made for more than one traumatizing late night encounter. _I’m moving in with you guys next year,_ he’d told Phichit, _better start looking for a place now_.

Phichit, on the other hand, had been uncommonly cheerful, and there’d been entirely too much eyelash batting. Something was up. Yuuri just didn’t know what. “Yuuuuuuuri. Do you have any plans on Valentine’s Day?” He asked, on February 13th, which was a new variation on a question he’d asked on February 12th, and February 11th, and February 10th.

“Studying,” Yuuri grumbled. It was at least partially true. He was ahead in Russian, now, had doubled-down on his lessons with a weekly speaking session. There was still, though, the matter of his classes. “Still catching up from last week’s meet…”

“Sounds _thrilling,_ ” Phichit chirped, and Yuuri’d thrown a pillow at him.

Now it was the dreaded day itself. Coach Cialdini had insisted he was being merciful by moving practice to the morning, instead of the evening session usually scheduled for Thursdays, and afterwards Yuuri had trudged through his classes, tired and sore, only half-awake. He put blinders on when it came to the extra flowers being carried around campus, the chocolates his friends kept offering to share. _You’re not seeing anyone, Yuuri? You sure?_

 _I stalk the instagram account of the world’s best figure skater,_ he nearly bit out, once. _Got drunk and made out with him once, too._ It was in these moments that he was reminded about the superiority of Japanese manners: the way the polite smile and evasion so common in his native country often befuddled his American friends, let him keep his distance, helped him escape these kinds of invasive questions and retreat for safer shores.

No, Katsuki Yuuri wasn’t seeing anyone. His empty apartment would be reminder enough of that, with the whole of the rest of the world out on dates, passing him by.

He dug into his backpack for his keys as he rounded the corner, only half-listening to the bark of a nearby dog, getting louder with every step, and more familiar, too; like it had a name:

“… vicchan?”

The toy poodle’s whole body shook with joy, and he scratched at Yuuri’s legs. At the other end of his leash stood his sister, Mari, leaning against the outside wall of his flat, smoking a cigarette like she wasn’t supposed to be all the way around the world, not here, certainly not holding the leash to _his dog_.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, little brother.”

 

\- - -

 

**[Viktor’s messages, instagram]**

**mari-chan  
** we made it!

 **mari-chan  
** thank you again for donating those miles

 **v-nikiforov  
** it’s no trouble

 **v-nikiforov  
** … is the dog okay?

 **mari-chan  
** he’s fine! I’ll post a photo ~

 

**[Instagram]**

**mari-chan** surprising @katsuki-don with his favorite valentine #vicchan #poodleine #goblue  
_lovelifeleo, v-nikiforov, katsuki-don, phichit+chu and 14 others like this._  
> phichit+chu OMG PUPPY o(^▽^)o  
> phichit+chu … is that my scarf  
> lovelifeleo …. is that my hat?  
> phichit+chu（；¬＿¬) the dog makes a cuter wolverine than i do  
> katsuki-don MY SISTER  
> katsuki-don BROUGHT MY DOG  
> katsuki-don TO ANN ARBOR

 

 **katsuki-don** is this real life #vicchan #mylove thank you @mari-chan!  
_madonna-yuuko, nishigori-kun, mari-chan, minakodeladanse, v-nikiforov, and 8 others like this._  
_> _ katsuki-don he’s staying with us o(*≧□≦)o  
> katsuki-don i’m going to cry

 

Mari left, eventually, and Vicchan stayed, his pet deposit paid (“call it a late Christmas present from Mom and Dad,” Mari had quipped, although she’d hinted at flying first class, her miles donated “by a friend”). The dog probably ate better than the boys did, and when they hit the road for meets a music major friend of Phichit’s (honestly, almost everyone on campus was a friend of Phichit’s) always volunteered to watch him (“he’s going to be more popular than I am,” whined Phichit, just before snapping a fresh selfie cuddled up to the toy poodle).

By the end of February, Leo, spending his first winter in Ann Arbor, kept threatening to transfer to UCLA, along with Phichit, who took an official position that snow was only pretty in December, when there were Christmas lights up and holiday music playing, and that it needed to move on by January 1st. He was, after all, a Thai boy, _from the tropics,_ he kept insisting. Coach Ciao Ciao had merely raised an eyebrow at that, pursing his lips somewhat pointedly. _I didn’t realize I was dealing with such fragile creatures,_ he’d murmured, which was one of those phrases that sounded promising until he finished with: _maybe I should swap you out on one of the rotations?_

It had the desired effect. They came in second overall at the Winter Cup, in Las Vegas; lost to Stanford at home, which hurt, then turned around and put up a narrow victory over Cal and a wider one over UIC.

It began to feel a little bit like momentum. 

 

\- - -

 

_March 17, 2013_

 

 **[Instagram]  
** **v-nikiforov** champions! #icu #worldchampions  
_y-plisetski, katsuki-don and 413 others like this._  
> katsuki-don конгратулатионс, Витя  
> v-nikiforov 。。。あなたはロシア語を話します？  
> yuri-plisetsky идиоты!

 

\- - -

 

That had been the best feeling of all, Skyping with Viktor the day after his world championship, all in broken fragments of Viktor’s absolutely terrible Japanese and Yuuri’s passably improving, elementary Russian.

Viktor Nikiforov, the reigning world champion, admitting that he’d picked up a book on _how to speak Japanese_ in a bookstore in Paris because he’d missed these calls with Katsuki Yuuri, halfway around the world.

Viktor Nikiforov, whose face in the selfie he’d taken with his medal shone brighter than his gold.

 

\- - -

 

_March 25, 2013_

**[espn.com, NCAA Men’s Gymnastics Ratings]**

1 Oklahoma

2 Stanford

3 Minnesota

4 Ohio State

5 Penn State

6 Michigan

7 California

8 Nebraska

9 Illinois

10 Air Force

 

\- - -

 

_April 11, 2013_

Dunedin, New Zealand

 

**[Instagram]**

**lovelifeleo** NEW ZEALAND AHHH #pacificriminvitational #besties #goblue @phichit+chu @katsuki-don  
_phichit+chu, katsuki-don, ciaociaocialdini, and 14 others like this._  
> phichit+chu it is almost as pretty here as in thailand! Ｏ(≧∇≦)Ｏ  
> phichit+chu THERE ARE PENGUINS  
> phichit+chu @katsuki-don can we get a penguin (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))

 

 **katsuki-don** ididn’tsleepontheplane .______. #pacificriminvitational  
_madonna-yuuko, nishigori-kun, mari-chan, minakodeladanse, singsingswing, and 8 others like this.  
> _singsingswing you'll do great!

 

**[Yuuri’s messages, instagram]**

**v-nikiforov  
** i have a surprise for you

 **katsuki-don  
** what is it?

 **v-nikiforov  
** don’t ruin the surprise

 **v-nikiforov  
** ask around the front desk

 

\- - -

 

Phichit and Leo were out sightseeing. Yuuri just wanted to _sleep._ He’d tossed and turned on the plane, unexpectedly nervous about returning to a big international competition. Somehow there hadn’t been that much time to think about it between his classes and everything else. A care package had arrived from Hasetsu the week before, full of some of his favorite snacks and … a pillow that looked, in a strange, pillow-y sort of way, exactly like vicchan. _Minami Kenjirou had it made for you,_ Yuuko had written in, one of a pile of notes from friends and family back home, all of them wishing him good luck. _He mailed it up to the gym. That kid loves you, you know._

He’d carried it on the plane, and had resolved not to give a damn what anyone thought about a grown man curling up to a dog-shaped pillow on an international flight, and then Phichit had gone and one-upped him with not just one, but all three of his hamster pillows stuffed into his carry on because _he hadn’t been able to choose which one to bring along for good luck._

Now they were in Dunedin, with competition starting the next day at the University of Otago gym, and Yuuri’d woken from a fitful nap because he was hungry at precisely the wrong time, hungry and backwards and all out of sorts. He checked the time on his phone and sighed heavily. _Thirty minutes. You napped for thirty minutes …_

Maybe it was better to get up, walk around, try to stay awake in his current zombie-like state until it was actually closer to nighttime. Yuuri reluctantly dragged himself out of bed, and sat on the floor, starting a series of stretches in an attempt to wake himself up and shake the airplane-soreness out of his limbs, flipping through his notifications as he leaned over his own legs.

… Viktor Nikiforov had a surprise for him, apparently waiting at reception.

A moment later, still in his Michigan sweatpants and a t-shirt, he padded out to the elevator and down to the first floor, burying another yawn into the crook of his arm. Without a glance towards the small lounge off of the front desk, he shuffled up to the receptionist, rubbing what he hoped were the last traces of jetlag from his eyes.

“I think I have a package —“

_“Oi, Vitya, how much longer are we going to sit around here?”_

 

. . .

 

Oi.

 

_Vitya._

 

Yuuri turned, slowly, ignoring the woman at the front desk as she asked him for his room number. There on the sofa, his feet thrown up on the coffee table and his hands buried into the deep pockets of his black hoodie, was Yuri Plisetsky. _That’s right. He’s old enough to compete in majors now …_

Yuri Plisetsky, though —

Yuri Plisetsky was talking to a man with platinum-blond hair, fine and silver in the cloudy late-afternoon light, and that man stood with his back to the front desk, looking out the window at pedestrians on the street.

“… Viktor?”

Viktor Nikiforov turned and flashed the smile that always threatened to turn Katsuki Yuuri into a puddle on the floor. “Yuuri!”

“Idiot, I told you, there can’t be two Yuris —“

“Yurotchka, the grown-ups are talking.”

“Why, you …”

Yuuri’s feet were moving of their own accord; there was a strange separation, some fog between his body and his brain. It was for the best. Given the chance to protest the way he was sweeping towards Viktor, nearly at a run, his mind surely would have, and then there was the matter of the hug, fiercer than he’d meant it to be, like he could crawl into Viktor’s gray trenchcoat and live there for a while, maybe forever, safe from scrutiny and safe from harm. “Viktor.”

Viktor was smiling. Viktor was hugging him, too; Yuuri’d thrown his arms around Viktor’s shoulders, and Viktor’s hands fell to a place just above the small of his back, sent a shiver down Yuuri’s spine.

Yuri Plisetsky looked like he’d thrown up in his mouth, but there was nobody looking at _him._

“Surprise,” murmured Viktor, and the one word was all breath, spilled out over Yuuri’s left ear, too close for comfort and yet his fingers twitched, tellingly, to resist backing away _just yet_. “We’re getting an early dinner,” he announced warmly. “Come with us.”

_Come with me._

“We’re going out to dinner with this loser?”

“You’ll have to forgive Yurotchka.” Viktor’s smile was all innocence, and his fingers drifted over Yuuri’s sides as he stepped back from the hug, and reached over the chair to pick up an umbrella. Then he tapped his chin, thoughtfully, and a spark of something impish whisked through those wonderful blue eyes. They were brighter than even Yuuri remembered. “He turns into even more of a hag when he hasn’t gotten his beauty rest.”

“Oi!”

“… Give me a few minutes,” Yuuri apologized, heat in his cheeks. Here was Viktor, looking as sharp as ever in a suit and tie, and Yuri Plisetsky, making some sort of indecipherable fashion statement about glamrocking cats, and Katsuki Yuuri, _still in his sweat pants._ “I’ll go get dressed.”

Where was Phichit when he needed him?

Standing in a Chinese Garden in Dunedin, New Zealand, where he was presently making Leo de la Iglesia take a photo of him as he fed the koi fish, Phichit Chulanont sneezed.

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

**katsuki-don** dinner with one of my heroes and “other yuri” Σ( ･口･) @v-nikiforov @yuri-plisetsky  
_lovelifeleo, phichit+chu, mari-chan and 6 others like this_  
> yuri-plisetsky I AM NOT OTHER YURI  
> phichit+chu VIKTOR IS HERE? WHERE ARE YOU  
> phichit+chu LEO AND I ARE COMING (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و  
> yuri-plisetsky YOU TAKE IT BACK RIGHT NOW, SVIN'YA

 

 **v-nikiforov** in New Zealand this week to cheer for @yuri-plisetsky and his new friends at the #pacificriminvitationals  
_lovelifeleo, otabek-altin, phichit+chu, mari-chan, katsuki-don and 213 others like this._  
> yuri-plisetsky WE ARE NOT FRIENDS  
> yuri-plisetsky YOU HEAR THAT SVIN'YA? I’M GOING TO BEAT YOU  
> lovelifeleo is your phone always in capslock  
> v-nikiforov that’s just how he talks  
> yuri-plisetsky you’re all idiots

 

\- - -

 

Dinner had begun as a party for three, and then steadily spilled over to other tables, because Phichit had practically run across town, and dragged Leo, to come and join them, and then Guang Hong had seen Phichit’s instagram and Yuri’s, and come along, and then JJ, who’d apparently been in the neighborhood with his girlfriend, had burst onto the scene with some joke about _of all the gin joints in the world,_ which Yuuri hadn’t understood at all. JJ had asked Viktor for an autograph, too, because it’d be good luck, to carry around a token like that from a gold medalist; might even propel him onwards to his own gold.

That conversation, however well intended, had brought out Plisetsky’s claws:

“It’s gonna be hard for you to take a gold in Vancouver when I’m on the podium, don’t you think?”

“Quiet, upstart, I’ve got _home-field advantage …_ ”

 _Home-field advantage …_ The words sent Yuuri into a thoughtful silence, until Viktor slid, imperceptibly, closer; bumped his knee against Yuuri’s leg and left it there. He glanced sideways, offered a small, private smile.

“How old are you now? You’re gonna be ancient by then.” JJ’s eyes widened, and Yuri gave a smug, satisfied smirk. “Maybe Christophe’ll retire before then. Then I’ll start calling _you_ gramps, instead.”

“The grown-ups were talking,” JJ replied, flashing a fierce grin that was all boldness and force. He'd already picked up on the joke, and this time it was Guang Hong, sweet and polite, who intervened over the sound of Yuri’s impressive list of Russian curses.

“Mr. Nikiforov —“

“Viktor, please.”

“Viktor.” Guang Hong murmured, fidgety and a little bit hesitant, like he was afraid to interrupt. Leo flashed him a smile across the table, and the Chinese gymnast sat up a little bit straighter. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“To root for me, of course,” crooned Yuri, who followed it up by making a face at JJ, and Viktor shook his head with a laugh, spreading an arm out over the back of the booth. It was a casual, idle gesture, the sort of thing he could’ve done with anyone sitting next to him, but the fact of the matter was Yuuri had climbed into the booth first and Viktor had followed him, and so it was Viktor’s arm behind Yuuri’s shoulders, and it drew the Japanese gymnast back out of himself.

Not everything in Tokyo had been bad. In Tokyo, he’d met Viktor Nikiforov.

“… My agent told me a gymnast from Switzerland named Christophe Giacometti was trying to get in touch with me, what, four years ago, now?” Even Viktor seemed surprised by that, raised his eyebrows at the way time just seemed to pass. “Eventually I got in touch with him and he gave me this whole spiel about a non-profit he’d started for young and upcoming gymnasts, and how there was this kid he thought I should meet.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Yuri interrupted, seemingly eager to put a stop to any real exposure of his own backstory. “So this idiot shows up at community ballet in Moscow and then introduces me to this total witch-woman —“

Viktor’s eyes _twinkled._ “Her name is Lilia.” Then his smile softened somewhat, in a way that made Yuuri curious because the shift was small, and yet, because Viktor smiled so often, it felt important somehow. With Viktor, every detail mattered. “Lilia Baranovskaya. She used to be a prima ballerina of the Bolshoi Ballet. My mother arranged some workshops with her when I was younger …”

Viktor’s _mother._ Except he never seemed to write about his family, really, and so now Yuuri looked at him, puzzled. He’d never seen Viktor posing with his family after the Kiss and Cry at any of his contests, and he’d gone to spend Christmas with Plisetsky, of all people, who was just as prickly in real life as he was online.

“Yakov’s ex-wife,” Yuri added, waving his hand, and then he grinned, suddenly. “Viktor dated her niece for a bit, a while ago. The family resemblance is strong.” The teenager lifted his hands, making cat-like claws and flashing them through the air. “Vitya. I thought she might put you on a leash.”

_Dated …?_

_You know so little about him, Katsuki Yuuri._

“Four years,” Viktor sighed, suddenly melodramatic, “and I still haven’t been able to teach him any manners.”

Later, most of them walked back together to the hotel. JJ took off with his girlfriend, off to meet his parents, who’d traveled with him all this way; Phichit and Yuri led the way, evidently locked into a fierce argument about whether cats or hamsters made better pets. Leo and Guang Hong lingered nearby, having a conversation about what mix of chalk and honey they preferred for parallel bars. Viktor took a more leisurely pace, and Yuuri hadn’t been able to pull away from the gravity that kept drawing him back, away from his roommates, falling in step with the figure skater.

“You’ve been quiet tonight.”

“… Just jet-lagged, I guess,” Yuuri admitted, which was part truth, and part lie. His head was spinning, still; forever turning back on itself, on JJ’s quip about hometown advantage, and Yuri’s big reveal about the famous people who orbited Viktor’s personal circle. Yuuri knew enough about the Bolshoi Ballet. He’d grown up in Minako’s ballet studio, after all, and Minako’s instagram handle didn’t end with deladanse for nothing.

“Lilia Baranovskaya is a friend of my mother’s,” Viktor said quietly. “I’ve known her daughter for a very long time.”

“Okay?”

“They were in the same company, once.”

“… her daughter?” Yuuri had a habit of squinting through his glasses when he was trying to puzzle something out; Viktor had picked up on it over dinner, when he’d first mentioned his mother. Like if he thought hard enough about _everything_ somehow the universe would fall into a neater order, one without life’s messy spots and disappointments. It was very different from how Viktor thought about things, when he thought very much about them at all.

But it was charming and strangely endearing, in the same way that it had been charming and strangely endearing to see Yuuri Katsuki blinking at him in the hotel lobby in sweats and a t-shirt and a remarkably bad case of bedhead which had made Viktor’s fingers twitch in his pockets, eager to ruffle Yuuri’s hair.

“Lilia and my mother.” He paused and gave into that impulse now, pulled a hand out of his pocket to hold Yuuri back for just a beat longer, because the hotel was just there, at the end of the street, and something about Yuuri’s mien made him want to keep walking, to explain: _I don’t think I loved her, Olesya._ Had he even tried, the way everyone seemed to want him to? Olesya certainly didn’t seem to think so, and Lilia hadn’t held it against him, when it was over.

Viktor usually only did the things that came to him naturally, things that beckoned with the same ease as the ice. _Whenever this gets hard you disappear,_ Olesya had accused him once, with a steely look in her green eyes. _You want everything to be easy._

Nothing with Yuuri was easy, but every instinct felt natural.

“We’ve never gotten to just sit around and talk,” he said softly. “I’m in 619, if you want to try.”

“Oi, slowpokes, we’re going to leave you behind!” Yuri Plisetsky. Flawless timing. Yuuri Katsuki was sure his entire face was on fire, but Viktor hadn’t let go of his wrist yet, though the press of his fingers was gentle, so soft a brush that Yuuri could’ve drifted through his grasp at any moment.

_If you want to try._

It was an offer. An open door, held open for him by a man who was looking at him now with an inscrutable, surprising fondness. Like he _mattered._

But there was, behind it, no pressure; no _obligation._ Viktor Nikiforov had crafted exactly this moment for Katsuki Yuuri, and then he’d put the decision entirely in Yuuri’s hands.

“O-okay. But I need to sleep, in a bit.”

Viktor’s impish smile came back, then, and Yuuri was certain he’d melt. “So change back into your pajamas,” he said, and then he let go, and lifted a hand to acknowledge all of Plisetsky’s shouting, and moved forward as though he actually intended to catch up.

Later, Katsuki Yuuri discovered that real bliss came in the form of Viktor Nikiforov, who’d insisted on giving Yuuri a massage after hearing that he still felt stiff from the plane (incredulous, even: _“you flew economy? from Chicago?”)._ Face down on the mattress with Viktor’s fingers working out the knots between his shoulder blades, he _almost_ felt relaxed, as though sleep, real sleep, might finally be a possibility soon. Except that every so often his brain helpfully reminded him that it was _Viktor Nikiforov_ giving the massage, asking the questions. _How do you think you’ll do tomorrow? Are you worried? How can I help?_

Yuuri didn’t want to think about it. He had a few questions of his own. “… How come you never talk about your family?”

The steady circle of Viktor’s hands stilled for a beat, and, even though he lay facedown, Yuuri imagined that even Viktor’s smile might’ve flickered for a moment, unsteady. He didn’t want to be the cause of _that,_ ever, and wiggled away, alarmed, sitting up as Viktor sat back on his heels, and then leaned back against the headboard. By the time they sat facing each other, like this, the smile was back, but it was softer, and Viktor deflected his gaze to the window, even though the curtains were drawn, and, unlike the Peninsula in Tokyo there wasn’t a spectacular view here to begin with.

“There’s not a whole lot to say,” Viktor admitted carefully, suddenly more distant than he’d ever been.

Yuuri struck up his apology song. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to —“

“No, no.” Viktor tilted his head to the side, and glanced back briefly, and Yuuri thought he looked for a moment like someone who was on the edge of tears; not quite all the way to the precipice, but close, as though from where he stood now Viktor could see the plunge into sadness himself and habitually resisted it. “I’m not good at talking about sad things,” he admitted, with a brief, brittle laugh. “I told you my mother was friends with Lilia Baranovskaya … They went to the Vaganova Academy together, when they were young. My mother got into the Mariinsky ballet, and Baronovskaya into the Bolshoi.”

“Is that how you got into ice skating? Ballet?”

“Mm. Some of my earliest memories are of watching my mother dance, at home. She was so beautiful. There are a lot of stories in Russia about fairies and folklore, and growing up I think I thought she was magic. But … if that’s what she was, then … my father …” Viktor drew in a long, steadying breath. “I don’t want to make you think he’s an evil man, Yuuri,” he said, quietly. “I just don’t have many nice things to say. He’s a prominent businessman, in St. Petersburg. I think he thought marrying my mother …” He trailed off. “I don’t know what he thought. Or what she thought. She retired after I was born, stayed at home. When I got a little bit older I kept insisting that I wanted to study ballet like mama, and he kept telling me it wasn’t appropriate. It was the only thing she ever argued with him about. Everything else my father said was law in our home. That’s just how he is, I guess. You run a company, you make the rules. You come home, you’re still chairman of the board in the house.” He shrugged. “They divorced when I was seven, and I guess it was pretty contentious. My mother won custody and my father paid her a lump-sum to make us go away. He talks about me sometimes in interviews, when it’s convenient because I’m famous now. But we don’t really talk. He got remarried a while back, anyway. He’s got a new family now. Kids who don’t embarrass him because they love ice skating more than they love money.”

Yuuri realized with a start that this was perhaps the longest story he’d ever heard Viktor tell about himself, and he crept forward in spite of himself, crawling across the bed to sit next to Viktor’s knees, not quite brave enough to touch.

But _oh,_ he wanted to.

“What about your mother?”

Viktor had known the question was coming, had been prepared for it. Nothing changed the exquisite hurt of examining it anew, now that they were here, talking about it, laying one of his secrets out in the open for Yuuri Katsuki to inspect in that gentle, worried way of his. “Early-onset Alzheimer’s,” Viktor said, quietly. “She got the diagnosis right after my last junior world’s.” He smiled, bitterly, tried to move on from the fact. “Gave her my junior medal that year, and the one from Beijing. Some days she even remembers what they’re from. It's ... rare. I don't have the gene.” Something to thank his father for after all. 

Possibly the  _only_ thing.

Yuuri’s hands were warm and soft and they were on either side of his face, and those brown eyes of his were big and wide and there was no hiding the hurt there. Like this scar Viktor carried around had cut him, too. “Viktor,” he said gently, and it made Viktor think of prayer; not the way prayer was said in the big, old churches in St. Petersburg, but prayer softly, the way his mother had prayed sometimes, when he was very little, before all of his earliest contests. As a whisper. A hope.

He leaned forward to kiss the gymnast before anything like _I’m so sorry_ could spill out afterwards, because it was easier than talking, because there’d been nothing else he’d wanted to do from the moment Yuuri had turned around at the front desk, and then spilled into his arms.

It was as sweet as he remembered.

Sweeter, even.

“… Viktor,” Yuuri breathed, like Viktor was still some kind of miracle unto himself, and Viktor had leaned into Yuuri Katsuki, because Yuuri was the miracle, all concern and softness and warmth; looking out for everyone except for himself in all of the ways that it mattered.

“Yuuri,” Viktor asked then, lacing his fingers behind Yuuri’s neck, “what do you want me to be to you?”

 

\- - -

 

At the Pacific Rim Invitational, Yuri Plisetsky won on high bar, but Katsuki Yuuri put up a ten point margin between first and second place on Floor, the widest of the whole event.

_Viktor Nikiforov could be my boyfriend._

They’d talked about it, or rather, Viktor had probed, in that searching way he had. _I-I don’t know. I … you’re so far away, a-and I’m in school, and …_

 _Stay here tonight,_ Viktor had said, then, playing games with the knot of their fingers, with the neat taper of his fingerprints, skating and dancing across Yuuri’s palms, his knuckles. Yuuri must have turned red from head to toe, because Viktor’s eyes had widened suddenly, sharply, and he’d been quick to backtrack, to create that strange space where Katsuki Yuuri could be himself, could rest, could breathe. _I don’t mean like … like Tokyo. Just stay here. Stay close to me._

 _Okay,_ Yuuri had agreed, because he’d been sure about that much, at least, and after Viktor promised he had no less than three separate alarms set for the morning, he’d fallen asleep to the rise and fall of Viktor’s chest, to the steady lullaby of his heartbeat.

In the morning, before the contest, he’d woken without terror.

_When do you leave?_

_Monday night. Phichit has it in his head that we’re going to go to Queenstown, because he wants to try bungie-jumping … He’s got this idea in his head that we’re all still going to make it to classes on Tuesday because we’ll cross the date line, coming back._

_I’ll change my flight._

_Viktor …_

_Let me take you somewhere, Yuuri. Someplace special. We can still meet them._

 

\- - -

 

 _April 14, 2013  
_ Queenstown Lake District, New Zealand

 

**[Instagram]**

**phichit+chu** GOING BUNGIE JUMPING ˛˛( ๑ּగ˞ּగ๑) ̉ ̉ @katsuki-don no backing out I’ve got your ticket #YOLO?!?  
_lovelifeleo, Jjleroy!15, yuri-plisetsky, and 36 others like this._  
> singsingswing katsuki-san! please don’t die .___.;  
> yuri-plisetsky at least not before I beat you both :F #vancouver2016 #catsoverhamsters  
> Jjleroy!15 have you tried the speed-boats? that’s #jjstyle too!

 

 **katsuki-don** lake wanaka / lake hawea  ♡  
_madonna-yuuko, nishigori-kun, mari-chan, minakodeladanse, singsingswing, and 8 others like this.  
_ > phichit+chu (°◡°♡).:。

 

The rental car was parked in a spot on the side of the road, an apex over which one beautiful lake lay shimmering to the left, and another glittered on the right. Yuuri took photos for his parents, for friends back in Hasetsu who were never going to have the same sort of luck, never get to make the same trip. Then he put the phone away in his back pocket, because it was a distraction, because every bit of the morning had been a miracle, starting with the flutter of kisses against the hollow of his throat as an alternative to a wake up alarm, just before dawn, because they had a long drive to make along windy, New Zealand roads, and Viktor had evidently wanted to get a head start on Phichit and Leo and the tour bus they’d be taking shortly after breakfast. It was a miracle still, a miracle that the road was mostly empty, devoid of tourists, that he could walk up to Viktor and twine their fingers together, because he wanted to and because Viktor let him do it.

They’d had another one of those probing talks, Viktor’s version of twenty questions:

_How many people have you kissed?_

_Two._

_… Have you had a boyfriend?_

_No._

_… Ah._

_Have you?_

_Yes._

Viktor had paused, then, and even though he had absolutely no respect for personal space (which Yuuri liked more than he hated, on the balance), he’d shown that same shocking willingness to meet Yuuri precisely where he was.

Like Yuuri mattered.

_Don’t rush to catch up on my account. It’s more important that you’re comfortable._

And then his eyes had narrowed a little bit, beautiful and blue, and he’d made one of those shocking declarations, like ‘do you know how amazing you are.’ _Still, though. Someone like you should be kissed as often as you want, and_ — Viktor had smiled, all deliberate charisma, Yuuri had drowned in it — _well._

 _I guess,_ Yuuri had mumbled, unsure, and halfway through explaining that his other kisses hadn’t been like Viktor’s, the skater had leaned in, to prove his point.

He thought back to those first weeks at Michigan, going with Phichit until he’d found his way in one of the campus LGBTQ groups. All those letters, Yuuri had thought, bewildered, back then. He told Viktor about it. Still didn’t know which one he was. Didn’t have the experience Viktor had, wasn’t ready to do more than kiss and curl into Viktor’s chest, to tie their fingers into knots.

Three nights now of going to bed in room 619, and Viktor had been nothing but patient, had never pushed, just _kept making room._ And now he’d brought Yuuri to this place that he liked, north of Queenstown, not far from a town called Wanaka where he said Christophe had taken him skiing once. Neither of their coaches had been happy about it. Southern hemisphere skiing was in the middle of Christophe’s summer season, and right at the moment Viktor should’ve been training and wasn’t supposed to risk a broken leg. Christophe had shrugged it off, careless as ever. _We Swiss are born in the mountains. I had to come here._

“… This is the most beautiful place I think I’ve ever been,” Yuuri admitted, then, and Viktor wrapped an arm around his shoulders from where they stood, smiling not his heart-shaped smile, the charismatic one, the one that made him so impossible to forget; but his gentle one, the little, private thing that Yuuri’d gotten to see more of; small, radiating contentment.

“New Zealand’s a pretty place,” Viktor said. “Maybe we’ll come back sometime.”

It almost sounded like a promise.

They bungie-jumped before lunch, an experience Katsuki Yuuri could safely say he’d probably never repeat. Even with Phichit and Leo cheering him on, it would’ve been hard to make the plunge without knowing Viktor was on the back of the platform, waiting his turn, everything about him radiating _safety_.

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

_April 26, 2016_

**lovelifeleo** HELLO CHARLOTTE #ncaachampionships #goblue #wolverines  
_phichit+chu, katsuki-don, Jjleroy!15, ciaociaocialdini, and 14 others like this._

 

**[soonersports.com]**

_April 28, 2013_

The Oklahoma Sooners Men’s Gymnastics team capped off a dominant season this weekend, cementing their place as the No. 1 college team in the world with a team-high score of 448. Anchoring the team was this year’s Captain and 2012 Olympic medalist, who secured an All-Around title for himself and captured event titles in Rings and Parallel Bars. All-in-all, the Sooners took home ten different captions, putting themselves well ahead of No. 2 Stanford and No. 3 Minnesota. The Sooners Head Coach had some strong words for rising star No. 4 Michigan, who collectively just missed the podium in the Team All-Arounds, after a particularly strong performance by Japanese student Yuuri Katsuki.

“I’m proud of the performance our boys have put in this year. Cialdini’s done a decent job putting together a team, but we’ve given those opportunities to American boys from here in the states, which to me is what these NCAA sports should be about.”

Cialdini, asked for a response in the locker room, had this to say: “The University of Michigan has two students from other countries on a gymnastics roster that features twenty-two other athletes. We’re proud of our three Olympians: of Leo de la Iglesia, who medaled with Team USA in 2012, of Phichit Chulanont, of Team Thailand, and of Yuuri Katsuki, of Team Japan.” Pressed about whether or not his roster was in the spirit of the NCAA guidelines, Cialdini added:

“The University of Michigan speaks regularly to the NCAA on this topic and we’re incredibly careful to make sure that we honor the rules. But I’ll say this. I’m a second-generation Italian, the child of immigrants to this country, and I got my big break getting to be a gymnast here because people didn’t care that my father worked a factory job in Pennsylvania. The Michigan school motto is _Artes, Scientia, Veritas,_ which means Arts, Knowledge, Truth. It’s not _Artes, Scientia, Veritas solis Americans._ Congratulations to the coaches and athletes of Stanford and Minnesota for great performances and great sportsmanship today.”

“No congratulations to the Sooners?”

“Oh, I think they’ve congratulated themselves enough, don’t you?”

Sore losers? Maybe so. Congratulations to  _our_ 2013 Hometown, Home-grown Champions!

 

**[Instagram]**

_April 28, 2013_

**lovelifeleo** all i have to say right now is #ARTESSCIENTIAVERITAS  
_katsuki-don, +guanghongji+, lovelifeleo, singsingswing and 193 others like this._

 

 **phichit+chu** #ARTESSCIENTIAVERITAS thank you @ciaociaocialdini  
_katsuki-don, ciaociaocialdini, +guanghongji+, lovelifeleo, singsingswing and 215 others like this._  
> +guanghongji+ sorry to read what that other coach said  
> +guanghongji+ obviously they don’t know you guys well enough ^^

 

 **katsuki-don** this might be the first time i’ve ever felt like i’m not wanted here  
_madonna-yuuko, phichit+chu, lovelifeleo, nishigori-kun, mari-chan, minakodeladanse, singsingswing, and 8 others like this._  
> madonna-yuuko what happened? I thought you did well!  
> yuri-plisetsky svin'ya, what are you whining about now  
> mari-chan are you okay?  
> katsuki-don [soonersports.com/controversy-at-the-ncaa-mens-gymnastics-final.html]  
> singsingswing rude!  
> singsingswing can someone tell me what a sooner is  
> singsingswing whatever it is I don’t like it  
> Jjleroy!15 that’s some bullshit  
> Jjleroy!15 someone’s going to ask me to apologize for that remark later but …  
> Jjleroy!15 apologies aren’t #jj-style  
> phichit+chu wow …  
> phichit+chu this is the first time I’ve ever actually liked #jj-style  
> lovelifeleo ignore it, @phichit+chu @katsuki-don  
> lovelifeleo by their definition i’m probably not american enough either  
> lovelifeleo and I don’t want to win a championship for people like that  
> Jjleroy!15 BURN #leo-style  
> yuri-plisetsky beat them in vancouver  
> yuri-plisetsky then see who’s being a whiny bitch about recruiting  
> ciaociaocialdini you’ve got spirit, kid  
> yuri-plisetsky DON’T. CALL. ME. KID.  
> v-nikiforov yurotchka …

 

 **mari-chan** #ARTESSCIENTIAVERITAS  
_katsuki-don, v-nikiforov, madonna-yuuko, nishigori-kun, singsingswing, and 6 others like this._

 

 **madonna-yuuko** #ARTESSCIENTIAVERITAS  
_nishigori-kun, mari-chan, minakodeladanse, katsuki-don, v-nikiforov, and 18 others like this._

 

 **nishigori-kun** #ARTESSCIENTIAVERITAS  
_madonna-yuuko, v-nikiforov, katsuki-don, minakodeladanse, and 6 others like this._

 

 **minakodeladanse** #ARTESSCIENTIAVERITAS  
_katsuki-don, v-nikiforov, madonna-yuuko, nishigori-kun, singsingswing, and 24 others like this._

 

 **singsingswing** katsuki yuuri is my hero and gymnastics teams everywhere should want him #ARTESSCIENTIAVERITAS  
_katsuki-don, madonna-yuuko, minakodeladanse, phichit+chu and 11 others like this._  
> katsuki-don thanks, minami-kun :)  
> singsingswing anything for you, katsuki-san!

 

**v-nikiforov**

_[image post, hand-written]_

Top tier education and top tier athletics should never be the monopoly of a single nation. I have skated competitively in 38 different countries. When you meet people who are different from you, it shatters your preconceived notions of their tribe, breaks your sense of self.

This is the true Olympic Spirit. Its arms are open wide to anyone who would come and compete.

The real Olympic spirit is love. The real competitive spirit is love.

It is a mistake to be a coach, and not understand this about sport. It is a bigger mistake to not understand it about life. It is a kind of breaking of your heart. A breaking that makes it bigger.

#ARTESSCIENTIAVERITAS  
_katsuki-don, ciaociaocialdini, phichit+chu, lovelifeleo and 652 others like this._  
_> _ yuri-plisetsky Тьфу, чувства  
> v-nikiforov your floor routine could use a little more чувства  
> yuri-plisetsky shut up vitya  
> Jjleroy!15 BURN #viktor-style

 

**[Yuuri’s messages; Instagram]**

**v-nikiforov  
** I understand a little

 **v-nikiforov  
** about prejudice

 **katsuki-don  
** your post made me cry

 **v-nikiforov  
** call me if you need anything

 **v-nikiforov  
** anything at all


	3. A Trip to St. Petersburg: We Call Everything on the Ice Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 2013: Yuuri goes back to Japan to spend his summer there. He gets to spend the month of June at home. Leo has custody of Vicchan for the summer. Russia passes its controversial anti-gay propaganda law.  
> July 2013: Yuuri joins Team Japan for training in Osaka, and picks up everyone's favorite fangy-smiled sidekick  
> Early August 2013: Viktor decides a vacation at a Hot Springs is just what the doctor ordered ...  
> Late August 2013: Leo moves in with Phichit and Yuuri; they change apartments. The NCAA gymnastic season begins, with various meets.  
> Early October 2013: The World Championships take place in gymnastics. Yuuri took the 2012 championships off after his disappointment in Tokyo, and is getting back on the circuit this year.  
> October 2013: Leo and Phichit surprise Yuuri with a road trip to Skate America, where Viktor is skating in the Grand Prix series.  
> December 2013: Due to unrest in Bangkok, Phichit spends the holidays with Leo’s family, and Yuuri decides to stay in the US again too to keep them both company.  
> January 2014: Viktor skates at the European Championships  
> February 2014: The Winter Olympics are in St. Petersburg.

**[Instagram]**

_May 27, 2013_

**v-nikiforov** picking the music for my long program: stammi vicino, non te andare #stayclosetome  
_yuri-plisetsky, christophe-gc, katsuki-don and 192 others like this._

 

_May 29, 2013_

**lovelifeleo** i’ve got custody of this handsome fella for the summer! #vicchan #byeyuuri #byephichit  
_phichit+chu, katsuki-don, ciaociaocialdini, and 19 others like this._  
> mari-chan you better take care of him!  
> katsuki-don dislike (ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣﹏ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣)  
> madonna-yuuko see you when you land, yuuri~

 

 **phichit+chu** HOME WITH THE HAMSTERS MY PRECIOUS BAES I HAVE MISSED YOU SO ლζ* ♡ε♡*ζლ  
_katsuki-don, +guanghongji+,_ _lovelifeleo and 101 others like this._  
> yuri-plisetsky are those rats?  
> phichit+chu rude  
> phichit+chu (; ･`д･´)

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** a reminder: cats > rats  
> Jjleroy!15 do you need some ice for that burn, @phichit+chu  
> phichit+chu ( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ _ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ )  
> phichit+chu yurotchka, do you hate joy?  
> phichit+chu (´;︵;`)  
> yuri-plisetsky YURI  
> yuri-plisetsky MY NAME  
> yuri-plisetsky IS YURI  
> christophe-gc whatever you say, yurotchka

 

\- - -

 

_May 30, 2013_

He was _home._ Home had been his father at the airport, rushing to give him a hug the moment he stepped through the exit. _Your sister is looking out for Yu-Topia, don’t worry._ Even after a series of long, cramped flights, he couldn’t fall asleep in the car, looking out the window as scenery flew by. After the Olympics, Katsuki Yuuri had wanted nothing more than to put a great distance between himself an Japan, to flee from all of the strangers he still imagined he’d disappointed.

“What are you thinking about, Yuuri?”

He’d stayed away for a whole year. There had been highlights, of course: calling his parents, Skyping with Yuuko and Takeshi, Mari’s appearance in February. It wasn’t the same as being present, with them, of seeing places the places where he’d grown up start to fly by. Hasetsu castle grew bigger on the skyline, and on a whim, Yuuri rolled down his window to take a picture of the iconic building, framed by the sunset. “I’m just … sorry it took me so long to get back.”

“You have to do whatever lets you pursue your dream, son.”

His dream. Yuuri blinked, and flashed his father a small smile. After Tokyo, he’d stopped thinking of gymnastics as a dream, but wasn’t it gymnastics that had given him first Yuuko and Takeshi as friends, and then Phichit and Leo?

Gymnastics had sent him all over the world, had let him see places he’d only ever read about in his textbooks.

Gymnastics had sent him crashing into Viktor Nikiforov, and Viktor Nikiforov was rebuilding his whole world, one brick at a time.

 **katsuki-don** somehow I let myself forget how wonderful this place is and how lucky I am #hasetsu  
_madonna-yuuko, nishigori-kun, mari-chan, minakodeladanse, singsingswing, and 13 others like this._  
> v-nikiforov is that a castle?!  
> madonna-yuuko silly! welcome home!  
> singsingswing see you at training camp in a few weeks, katsuki-san!

Vicchan wasn’t home to bark as they opened the front door of Yu-Topia; it wasn’t fair, carting the dog across an ocean for a second time. _That_ was the sound Katsuki Yuuri was half-expecting as he opened the door, not the unanimous shout of “SURPRISE!” from the collection of his closest friends, assembled at home. Nishigori Takeshi had yelled the loudest, one arm thrown over Yuuko’s shoulders, but Mari was there, too, all smiles, standing near his mother, whose hands were behind her back. Even Minako stood nearby, posture as perfect as ever, with a smile full of grace.

Then there was the question of the smell: perfect, mouth-watering, delicious …

“Yuuri,” Hiroko murmured, smiling, as she and Mari unveiled what she’d been hiding behind her back: “we made katsudon.”

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

_July 7, 2013_

**singsingswing** i’ve made #teamjapan and now i get to hang out for a few weeks with my hero @katsuki-don!  
_phichit+chu, lovelifeleo, hikaru-hk, and +guanghongji+ like this._  
> singsingswing @katsuki-don i’m doing an arabian double front this year, katsuki-san  
> singsingswing just like you did in your debut!  
> katsuki-don sou ka? good luck, kenjirou!

 

\- - -

 

NHK General TV even sent a reporter down to interview them about the process of rebuilding the team, their plans for the World Championships coming up in October, and if the upcoming St. Petersburg Olympics weighed on their coaches’ mind at all, when thinking about how to rearrange the team to qualify for the All-Around. The question had very nearly soured Yuuri’s mood for the afternoon until he’d overheard Hikaru and Kenjirou discussing it on a break:

_Don’t you think those reporters are so lucky, to get to travel around and cover things like the Olympics, all over the place?_

_Not just the reporters. Remember how many people volunteered for the Tokyo games, to make them go off the way they did?_

He hadn’t had time to dwell on it, not right away, at least, but at night, with Kenjirou and Hikaru asleep on the bunks around him, Yuuri took a look at the St. Petersburg website, sighing heavily when the volunteer form indicated that all volunteers for the 2014 games would need to be fluent in Russian.

NHK General, though: they were looking for interns.

 

\- - -

 

**[Texts; Viktor’s Phone]**

_July 19, 2013_

**Viktor:**  i know you've been mad at me since june but  
**Viktor:** how do you feel about castles  
**Christophe:** they’re ok?  
**Viktor:** ok good. hot springs?  
**Christophe:** they’re super great  
**Viktor:** what about  
**Viktor:** castles and hot springs  
**Christophe:** you wanna tell me what this is about, vitya  
**Viktor:** that happen to be in japan  
**Christophe:** this is about katsuki, isn’t it  
**Viktor:** i’m taking yurotchka on a vacation  
**Viktor:** and trying to invite you  
**Viktor:** this is what we call an olive branch  
**Christophe:** vitya, that was what we call “a pivot”  
**Viktor:** i am an ice skater  
**Viktor:** pivoting is ice skating 101  
**Christophe:** fine but you’re buying  
**Christophe:** it’s a matter of principle  
**Christophe:** always pay the babysitter  
**Viktor:** ok  
**Christophe:** also admit that i am your best friend in the entire world  
**Viktor:** …  
**Viktor:** you are my best friend in the entire world  
**Christophe:** and girlfriend you better not forget it

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

_August 1, 2013_

**singsingswing** going to HASETSU home of @katsuki-don! #yu-topia  
_hikaru-hk, phichit+chu, mari-chan, +guanghongji+, and lovelifeleo like this._

 

\- - -

 

_August 2, 2013_

Summer training was over. Yuuri had made an impulse decision which he was beginning to regret already: he’d invited Minami Kenjirou to come spend a weekend at Yu-Topia, since they’d bonded over the course of the training camps in Osaka. Problem was, Kenjirou had accepted, and on the train ride home he’d had what felt like a million different questions about what it had been like to grow up in Hasetsu, and what it was like to be Katsuki Yuuri, who was now getting to study off in America on a team that was going to be the envy of the world someday.

_Aa … it’s not that great, honestly, Minami-kun —_

_That’s not true! Everything you do is great, Yuuri!_

Yuuri had smiled feebly at that, but it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to do. Minami Kenjirou had blind, unconditional faith in him, and just look how he’d paid that back in Tokyo. In order to avoid an ambush at breakfast, he got out of bed early and went for a run, then took in some practice time at the gym Yuuko was working at, part-time, now. By the time he began the walk back to the onsen, it was nearly lunchtime, and he was too tired and too hungry to register the barking sound that began on his walk up to the front door.

The barking sound coming from a poodle. The poodle who’d bowled him over the moment he stepped into the inn. The laughter, the _voices._ Everyone talking in _English._

His mother. “Can’t remember the last time we had the whole place full, it’s so nice of you all to decide to stay —“

“This stuff is okay, I’ll give svin'ya that —“

“Yuuri’s mother made that!” Kenjirou sounded put-out and defensive. “It’s more than okay!”

A laugh that seemed only vaguely familiar. _Smirky._ Confident. “Sorry, that’s as close as a compliment as you’re going to get from the punk, kiddo.”

“Nobody asked you, Giacometti!” That snarl, and the accent behind it, those were familiar, but it couldn’t be, and suddenly Yuuri had his arms too full of poodle to verify his suspicions, to follow the insistent, racing pulse of his heartbeat around the corner where it seemed to have leapt.

“Let’s see what Makkachin has dragged in,” murmured _that voice,_ the one he still dreamt of. Yuuri squirmed under the dog’s weight, rubbing kisses and slobber off of his cheeks, and he was in no fit state to be staring up at Viktor Nikiforov from the floor. “Ah.” Viktor looked over his shoulder, and smiled that damnably perfect smile. “Kenjirou, my dog has located Yuuri for you.” Viktor’s blue eyes twinkled, and he extended a hand to help Yuuri up. _For me._

“V-viktor, what are you doing here?”

“I’m on vacation.” Viktor Nikiforov replied. This was the answer to some question, Yuuri thought, just maybe not  _the specific question he'd just asked._

“He’s an idiot, that’s what he is,” Yuri shouted from the adjacent room, only to find Christophe Giacometti leaning over him, deft fingers curled underneath the point of his jaw, forcibly shutting his mouth.

It was Christophe’s turn for a sly, smirky smile. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Yurotchka.”

If they hadn’t been sitting on the floor, Yuri might have kicked him.

 

\- - -

 

Christophe and Viktor had been _entirely_ too enthusiastic about the hot springs. Yuri, dubbed _Yurio_ by Mari, had his hands full trying to find enough ways to convey his displeasure over instagram, writing derogatory comments on every borderline-inappropriate selfie snap. Eventually, though, Christophe claimed the excuse of jetlag, and even Yuri grumbled about the same, and with Kenjirou asleep on a futon instead of properly in his room because he’d been too excited to sleep, Yuuri finally crept outside. It had taken some effort to work up his courage: instagram suggested that there was a very real possibility that Viktor Nikiforov was in his backyard wearing either very few clothes, or none.

Already at least one of the photos was up to a few hundred likes, not that Yuuri’d been absently checking them periodically …

“Viktor?”

“Yeah?”

Never had the pebbles of the hot springs been so interesting. Yuuri toed at one, careful. He’d stepped outside without a specific plan in mind, and was recognizing that mistake now. Viktor, in one of the onsen’s robes, had stretched out on his back on a bench, looking up at the stars beyond the rising veil of steam. He was so beautiful; too beautiful to be here, in ordinary Hasetsu at ordinary Katsuki Yuuri's home. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you,” Viktor hummed without looking back. _I wanted to meet the people who matter to you,_ he thought, and Christophe and Yuri provided as good a cover as any, something to stop people from looking too hard at the fact that Viktor Nikiforov had flown around the world twice now to try to be in the same place as Katsuki Yuuri, collecting his handfuls of days. It had been wonderful to wake up in New Zealand with the gentle whisper of Yuuri’s breath against his throat. Wonderful and dangerous, because it had been too much, perhaps. Too vivid, standing over those two lakes, holding Yuuri’s hand. How were photographs and messages supposed to suffice now? “Meet your friends, your family. And now they’ve met my friends, my family.”

“But they don’t know …”

“Not unless you’ve told them,” Viktor murmured back, and he finally looked up, curious. “Have you?”

“No…” Yuuri’s breath hitched in his throat. Takeshi had always been such a _bro,_ growing up. Whatever this was, with Viktor, it was certainly going to make Takeshi think he was gay, and Yuuri had no idea what Takeshi thought about that. By contrast, he knew his sister would never care. He knew that with a sudden and exacting clarity that was startling, something he promised himself he'd examine later. Later when he wasn't so tempted to stare down the gap in Viktor's yukata.

His parents had always promised to love him no matter what, but Yuuri wasn’t sure they meant this. Those words had come up when he’d gotten his offer from Michigan, was weighing moving halfway around the world on a chance and a dream, and he doubted they extended to a moment like this one, trying to admit to something like _I guess I might like men, because Viktor …_

Viktor was sitting up now, looking at him with a thoughtful expression that wasn’t nearly as disappointed as Yuuri thought it should have been. “I didn’t think you had,” he said. “You were practicing earlier, right?”

“Aa, yeah …”

“Go ahead and use the hot springs.” Viktor smiled his heart-shaped smile. It was the first time Yuuri recalled not entirely liking it. Sometimes that smile was a shield. He stood up, turned away, tossed the last phrase away over his shoulder: “I won’t look.”

Yuuri’s feet had moved of their own accord, then, and he’d wrapped his arms around Viktor’s chest, leaned into his back. “I’m sorry,” he said, nothing more than the habit of always apologizing, for never having himself quite figured out. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor murmured fondly, resting his hands over Yuuri’s forearms, “you have nothing to apologize for.”

 

\- - -

 

_August 4, 2013_

Christophe had insisted on clearing the whole onsen out for sight-seeing, and that meant everyone, including Viktor, off to go up to Hasetsu castle. It left Yuuri alone at Yu-Topia, and when he came out for breakfast Mari was the one in the kitchen.

“The others left already,” she told him. “They’re going up to see the castle, and then I think Christophe said something about taking Yurio shopping …”

“Nice of him, I guess.”

“Nice of Viktor,” his sister corrected gently, and she moved across the kitchen to bump her shoulder against Yuuri’s, smiling in a way that was playful and piercing. “You’re a thing, aren’t you?”

“Huh?”

“You and Viktor.”

“Oh. Um.” Yuuri’s nerves jolted him awake, sent sparks down his arms, made his palms sweaty. When he looked back at Mari, though, her eyes were clear, and in them there was no judgment. “ … Sort of,” he stammered. “I guess. We’re never in the same place, though, so.”

“You’re in the same place now.”

“Well, yeah, but —“

“Better eat quick and go catch up to them, then, don’t you think?” Her eyebrows rose, and then she pointed to a pot boiling on the stove. “I’m taking a smoke break. Make sure that doesn’t catch fire while you eat.”

“Hey, Mari?”

“Yeah?”

“You're not going to tell Mom and Dad, are you?”

“Yuuri.” Mari sighed, and shook her head. “No need to worry about that. I’m pretty sure they’ve already figured it out.” His heart pounded in his ears, thrumming a steady _No. No. Nonono._ Mom and Dad were older and they ran and onsen and those were very traditional things, the inn especially, founded on centuries of culture and care. _What are they going to think?_

Suddenly Mari’s hands were on his face, and then she pinched his cheeks, the way she’d done when he was younger, and chubbier. Back when Takeshi had called him _fatso._ “Yuuri,” she told him, firmly. “We are your family. We know you and we love you.” Then, Mari’s eyes narrowed suddenly, and her brow furrowed. “I will only love you a little less if you burn what Mom’s prepping for lunch. Can I go have my cigarette now, please?”

“Y-yeah.” _We know you and we love you._ How could they, though, when Yuuri sometimes didn’t know himself? Did Mari know him better? “Hey, Mari?”

“Mm?”

“Thanks.”

 

\- - -

 

_August 5, 2013_

Viktor Nikiforov was dangerous on land and an absolute health hazard in a hot spring. He was languid and perhaps a little bit predatoy, purposeful, and he chose his battles carefully: first acting innocuous enough to convince Yuuri to share the spring with him, and then creeping further and further into Yuuri’s personal space, until they were shoulder to shoulder. Until his leg brushed Yuuri’s, sitting immersed on the same stone. Until he’d put an arm over Yuuri’s shoulders, drew him against his chest.

“Yuuri,” he breathed into Yuuri’s ear, lips just brushing the upper tip, which was red with more than heat and steam: “You didn’t tell me Hasetsu had an Ice Skating rink.”

Katsuki Yuuri was going to become a puddle. He was going to become one with the Yu-Topia springs themselves. He was going to forget how to talk in English, or Japanese, or Russian, because that was _Viktor’s chest_ and Viktor wasn’t wearing _clothes_ and Viktor, well. In one of Yuuri’s dance classes back at Michigan, his Professor had gone on at length about the human form, had spent time in class flipping through a slide deck of masterworks that celebrated the human body. Having seen Viktor’s now in some detail, Yuuri could say with confidence that it merited inclusion in that collection.

He couldn’t _think._ Every so often Viktor’s hand moved, and his fingers brushed the short hair at the back of Yuuri’s neck, and he got lost all over again. To this, Viktor offered no help, just the amused curve of his smile, the mischief of his eyes.

“Aa — yeah. The Ice Castle, you mean?”

“Let’s go there in the morning.”

“Okay.” Viktor Nikiforov could have been proposing a trip to Pluto, one way, and Katsuki Yuuri, in his present state, would’ve readily hopped aboard. Was he supposed to be touching Viktor back? What was he supposed to do with his hands? Yuuri spread them out over the stone behind their backs, tried to do something in return, wound up tracing the top vertebrae of Viktor’s neck. “Why?”

There it was again, that near-purr in Viktor’s voice, still giving him shivers. “I have something I want to show you before we leave.”

 

\- - -

 

_August 6, 2013_

It was _entirely_ too early in the morning, but Viktor had insisted: for one thing, the rink would be nearly empty, at this inhuman hour; for another, he and Yuri and Christophe all had a flight to catch. Viktor had been the one to come wake him up before dawn, and the one to insist on bicycles instead of a sensible, faster mode of transportation. Thus Yuuri Katsuki had learned something else about Viktor Nikiforov: sometimes he could be a little bit of a sadist. A sadist who loved bicycles.

That sadist had completed a light warmup around the ice while Yuri watched, and then he’d skated back to the rink’s gate, where Yuuri stood. Viktor came close, let his fingers drift over Yuuri’s hipbone, smiled.

He looked so _happy._ “This is called _Stay Close to Me.”_ Viktor murmured, and he pushed off of the rail, moved out towards center ice. “You’re the first person besides my coaches, and Yurotchka,” _who snuck in,_ he added, “to see it in full.”

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

_August 18, 2013_

**lovelifeleo** celebrating a dormitory free life #roomies #goblue @phichit+chu @katsuki-don  
_phichit+chu, mari-chan, +guanghongji+ and 39 others like this._

  

_October 4, 2013_

**yuri-plisetsky** goddamnit georgi pull yourself together man she’s just a girl #teamrussia #worlds  
> milamilamila yurotchka, be nicer! he’s got a broken heart  
> yuri-plisetsky EVEN THE ITALIAN SOB STORY KEPT IT TOGETHER ON RINGS GEORGI  
> yuri-plisetsky AND JAPAN’S NEW FAIRY-HEADED CHILD PASSED HIM ON HIGH BAR  
> singsingswing … hey  
> singsingswing HEY <(｀^´)>  
> singsingswing I am NOT a child and the RED is for JAPAN, you JERK  
> milamilamila don’t worry, kenjirou-kun, this is yurio’s way telling the people around him that he likes them  
> yuri-plisetsky i am surrounded by idiots  
> singsingswing get a new strategy, jerkface ＼| ￣ヘ￣|／

 

\- - -

 

_October 4, 2013_

Glasgow, Scotland

 

“That jerk!” Kenjirou was livid, standing next to Yuuri as they packed up their bags from the final rotation of qualifiers. “Qualifying rounds have been done for like ten minutes and Plisetsky’s already throwing his teammate under the bus on instagram.” Katsuki Yuuri, his attention divided between the results scrolling by on the main screen and the text messages on his phone, didn’t answer immediately. _Phichit qualified well in Vault. He’ll be so happy. And Leo’s doing two events now …_

Plisetsky had done well, too, which would make Viktor happy, even if it’d make the Russian teenager a little more unbearable than usual. They weren’t due to go head to head on any individual events, which was probably for the best. Yuri had just fallen short of qualifying for the All-Around, and Yuuri had squeaked by, in the bottom half of the pack. Even though he was with Team USA again for this trip, Ciao Ciao had sent along a quick congratulations. In just a few days, after all, they’d all be back in Michigan, once again tumbling for the same team.

“Yuuri, are you paying attention?”

“Sorry, Kenjirou.” He smiled a little bit, dropped his phone back in his bag. Viktor’s _I’m so proud of you_ text had put the sort of warmth in his chest that hurt because — like everything with Viktor — it was a little bit _too_ much. Viktor was a hurricane; no, Viktor was a whirlpool. Katsuki Yuuri simply threw his hands up and gave himself to the sea. Viktor never took, though, never let him drown. “I got distracted reading the scores…” Kenjirou thrust his phone in Yuuri’s face and, to his surprise, he found himself laughing with a shake of his head.

 _What is the phrase?_ Viktor had asked, over the summer, trying to find the words for Yuri Plisetsky: _Bark worse than bite. Whatever that is. Except with the world’s angriest kitten._

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Yakov will sort them all out.”

“Yeah, but can you imagine if you had been treated that way? After Tokyo?” Kenjirou’s brow furrowed, but whether it was a focus of his outrage or his worry, Yuuri couldn’t tell. Instinctively he’d flinched at the word _Tokyo,_ had closed his eyes, shut out those terrible performances. In some respects they were a lifetime ago.

“Some people _did_ treat me that way,” Yuuri reminded him gently.

“Well, I never will,” Minami asserted, folding his arms with a vehement _humph!_ “When I beat him on high bar in Vancouver, I’m going to tell him that today was the precise moment where I decided to kick his butt.”

Yuuri laughed again. When had it been so easy to laugh at a competition like this? Never. That was when. Phichit always did, couldn’t be shaken, it seemed. Leo got more serious at these contests, quiet, pulled into his phone and listening to music.

Viktor, though. Viktor laughed loudly and often and it bled into _everything._ “I’ll look forward to it.”

 

\- - -

 

'I wouldn’t worry about it too much' were words spoken shortly thereafter to Yuri Plisetsky, sulking in the hotel lobby after his thorough talking to from both Yakov and Viktor. _That is not how an Olympian treats a teammate,_ Viktor said calmly. _If that’s what you really want to be, Yuri, it’s time to stop leaning on the excuse of your temperament._

Even Otabek Altin had heard, evidently, about the apology he’d been forced to issue to the Russian press, because those were the words he'd just said: I wouldn't worry about it too much. The words Yuri had wanted to say were: _Sorry Georgi wears his heart on his sleeve and fell off the bar,_  evidently not a good way to mend bridges, so instead, with coaching from Christophe, he’d said something like this: _I’m a very competitive person. I want to be the best in the world. That means competing against the best in the world, too: like all the rest of you, I just wanted Georgi to have his best day._

Viktor hadn’t smiled at him afterwards, the way he sometimes did, whenever Yuri did something like this; _apologize to an idiot,_ that was. Instead Viktor had gone out to eat with the Japanese team, like a goddamn traitor, leaving Yuri to sulk on his own for a bit. He suspected it was one of those teachable moments, that sort of serious bullshit Viktor slipped into their interactions from time to time. Unsettling, though: the way Viktor Nikiforov could be, at one moment, flashing the world that awful heart shaped smile of his, and in the next be cold as the winter breeze in Siberia, blown right on by.

Yuri turned to look at the gymnast speaking to him, Otabek Altin, Kazakhstan’s lone qualifier in any of these events, his hair shaved into an undercut, expression cool and unreadable.

“Nikiforov looks through the world in rose-colored glasses because he’s always had enough resources to get to the next level and then he’s always won once he’s gotten there.” Otabek’s black eyes flickered for a moment, and he did not smile. “For some of us, sport is war. You know that, don’t you?”

Yuri thought back to his first gym in Moscow, the shitty community center his Grandfather kept going out of his way to take him to and he chuckled wryly, shook his head. “I guess I do.”

“I thought you might,” murmured Otabek, who stood up and stretched. “Feltsman, I remember him. Always art with him. But you have the eyes of a soldier.” Otabek wore a cool leather jacket and when he stood he was a good four inches taller, and he seemed to be the sort of person who _knew things._ A jacket like that might not be too bad. It’d look good over leopard print. “I’m getting dinner. You can come.” He still didn’t smile, but there seemed to be the _sense_ of a smile, somehow. The ghost of one. Yuri couldn’t put his finger on it. Then, Otabek added blandly: “Unless you’re going to hunger strike down here.”

Still, a nagging question lingered, even as Yuri stood up and scrambled to follow: _Can’t I be both?_

 

 **[2013worldgymnastics.com, Selected Results by Gymnast]:**  

_October 10, 2013_

Altin, Otabek: Gold Medal, Rings  
Chulanont, Phichit: Bronze Medal, Vault  
de la Iglesia, Leo: Bronze Medal, High Bar; Silver Medal, Team  
Giacometti, Christophe: Gold Medal, All Around; Gold Medal, Floor; Gold Medal, Pommel Horse  
Ji, Guang Hong: Silver Medal, Vault; 6th place, High Bar  
Katsuki, Yuuri: Silver Medal, Floor; 4th place, Parallel Bars; 6th place, Pommel Horse; 6th place, All-Around; Bronze Medal, Team  
Lee, Seung-gil: Gold Medal, Parallel Bars; 5th Place, Team  
Leroy, Jean-Jacques: Gold Medal, Vault; Bronze Medal, Floor; 5th place, Parallel Bars; Gold Medal, Team  
Minami, Kenjirou: 5th place, High Bar; Bronze Medal, Team  
Plisetsky, Yuri: 4th place, High Bar; 4th place, Team

 

**[MGoBlue.com]**

_October 11, 2013_

_The Michigan mens’ gymnastics team had a less than thrilling home opener this weekend, losing to visitors Ohio State in spite of a few standout individual performances. Coach Cialdini waved off the loss. “Three of our top competitors only just got back from Scotland,” he noted, “where they had tremendous performances in the World Championships. I’m confident in our ability to succeed this season.”_

_Asked about last year’s controversy with the University of Oklahoma, Cialdini declined to comment. “We closed the book on last year at the NCAA Championships. We’re focusing on the story we have to write this year.”_

 

_\- - -_

 

_October 18, 2013_

Katsuki Yuuri was suspicious. He had every right to be suspicious because Phichit Chulanont had that look on his face, the one he got when he was _up to something,_ and Leo de la Iglesia had pulled his car around, and even though he’d just gotten home from class, Vicchan was curiously missing. “Where are we going?”

“No questions, Yuuri,” Leo said, fishing out a pair of sunglasses from the pocket of his coat. He’d mentioned _the plan_ in passing to Guang Hong, following their Season Opener loss to Ohio State, and Yuuri’s subsequent sulk about his second-place finish on Floor. Katsuki Yuuri could punish himself for his perceived, imaginary deficiencies like nobody else Leo de la Iglesia had ever seen: they’d come back from worlds ecstatic, with multiple titles, and gone into the first home meet overtired, and the Michigan team had paid the price. Yuuri sucked up the responsibility for the loss like there weren’t twenty other gymnasts on the squad, each with their own portion of the blame to bear.

Guang Hong had insisted that he needed to get a pair of aviator sunglasses, for full effect. _When you have a top secret plan, Leo, you have to have a pair of secret-agent sunglasses._

“That’s right. Get in the car.” Phichit pointed at Leo’s aging Camry, waiting for them in the driveway. “You’ve been in a sulk since last week’s meet, and this is an intervention. I’m even going to let you take shotgun. I _never_ let you take shotgun.”

Yuuri sighed, and gave in, walking over to the car to get himself settled into the passenger seat. All three of Phichit’s hamster pillows were in the back seat, along with a duffel bag, a blanket, and two different bags of chips. “Guys,” he said, dubiously, “where are we going?”

The other two doors had closed, though, and Leo was already starting the engine. Phichit, phone ready in the backseat, selfie-stick already fully extended, snapped a photo, and then the two of them cheered simultaneously: “ROAD TRIP.”

“Skate America is tomorrow! I’m not going anywh —“

“Yuuri,” Phichit emphasized, as realization began to dawn, as Leo’s phone calculated their route to _Indianapolis_ (4 hours, 15 minutes via US-24 W and I-69 S). “Road trip.”

His heart was doing that thing again. That foreign flutter. “We’re going to Skate America.”

Leo’s grin was broad and brilliant. “We’re going to Skate America.”

 

\- - -

 

**[Viktor’s messages, instagram]**

 

 **katsuki-don  
** “i have a surprise for you”

 **v-nikiforov  
** oh?

 **katsuki-don  
** “don’t ruin the surprise”

 **katsuki-don  
** “ask around the front desk”

 

\- - -

 

 _Asking around the front desk_ meant getting back to the hotel all the skaters were staying in to begin with, flashing a polite smile and a wave without commentary to a reporter parked outside to interview one of the American skaters. _Living legend Viktor Nikiforov! How do you think you’ll do tomorrow?_

He’d murmured some polite answer about intending to do his best, and excused himself, and then he’d stepped into the lobby and looked around, _expectant._

“Hello, Viktor.”

“Yuuri!” He wanted, very much, to rush forward. Yuuri had done that, at Pacific Rim, but there had not been an American reporter at Pacific Rim, and Christophe had some very choice words when it came to the State of Indiana. _Don’t get carried away thinking the Americans have this any more figured out than your fucking country does,_ Christophe warned him, over the phone, in a streak of vehemence that had been on the rise since the summer: _all Indiana is missing is the censorship and the fine._

As it turned out, young athletes weren’t the only thing Christophe Giacometti cared about.

Instead, Viktor stepped forward, placed his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, squeezed it and smiled. It was the heart-shaped one. Photo-ready. Just in case. Suddenly he was thinking about the first night back in the onsen; asking whether or not Yuuri’d explained their _situation_ to his family. Viktor was not ready to explain their _situation_ to his fans. For one thing, Yuuri still stubbornly eluded names, had pointed out all the reasons why having a boyfriend half a world away wouldn’t work, why he thought with their schedules and their competitions it was best to leave things understated, loose. Viktor had a feeling this had more to do with Yuuri grafting some idealized version of Viktor into the picture; like it was particularly difficult, somehow, to board a plane first class to the States.

Yuuri made him want to be patient, though. Watching Yuuri make these discoveries himself was a little bit fascinating, like he’d been handed a rare flower, beautiful, the kind that only bloomed under very precise conditions. Viktor had never been a gardener. Not once in his life had he ever really cultivated anything. Except now he wanted to learn.

He just wasn’t ready to share that revelation with the public. Russian fans, in particular, were looking to their unflappable hero to keep doing what he’d always done: balance charisma and approachability with aloofness and mystery while adding an unparalleled winning streak to the nation’s list of victories.

What was it about him that made it so easy for people to graft their hopes onto?

The realization stung and Viktor did what he always did with those little hurts: he smiled over them. “I’d rather not talk here,” he explained mildly, nodding towards the front door. Surely Yuuri would’ve seen the reporters when he came in. Surely he would understand.

Why, then, was Viktor the one who suddenly wanted to apologize? “Sorry —“

“It’s okay.” Yuuri’s smile was small, but his smiles usually were; private, careful things. It was what lay in his gaze that mattered: in the insistent scan of Viktor’s face, questioning, fond, happy? Yuuri still looked happy. Happy to be here, where Viktor was whisking him into an elevator to get somewhere else, to hide.

He’d hidden other people from the press before. So why did it burn this much now?

 

\- - -

 

“ … and anyway, we got here maybe an hour ago, Phichit and Leo went to go check in, we’re staying someplace a little cheaper since it was sort of spur of the moment and they wanted to surprise me — “

“They might be staying there,” Viktor hummed, already pushing beds together. “ _You_ are staying with me.”

Later, with Yuuri asleep in his arms, he turned his head to press a kiss to the gymnast’s temple, took a photo, saved it privately. Viktor ignored every urge to do otherwise, to post it out to the world: _this is all I want. Just this. Why is that so bad?_

 

_\- - -_

 

_October 20, 2013_

Viktor Nikiforov’s premiere of his free skate, _Stay Close to Me_ propelled him into first place amid thunderous applause from the assembled skating fans, sitting amidst the Bankers Life Fieldhouse. Among the items thrown on the ice for his retrieval were three plush wolverines, in Michigan blue, and a hastily prepared poster reading:

#BELIEVE

 

**[Viktor’s messages; Instagram]**

 

 **katsuki-don  
** we have to go now, early morning practice with ciao ciao

 **katsuki-don  
** that was beautiful and i’m going to find a way to see it again

 **katsuki-don  
** in st. petersburg

 **katsuki-don  
** call me if you want while we drive back, after you finish interviews

 **v-nikiforov  
** i will

 **v-nikiforov  
** i need to thank your friends

 **v-nikiforov  
** for conspiring to bring me you

 **katsuki-don  
** it was nothing really phichit does crazy stunts like this all the time

 **v-nikiforov  
** you could never be nothing, katsuki yuuri

 **katsuki-don  
** … i don’t mean for this to sound dramatic, but

 **katsuki-don  
** will you understand if i say that when you say it, i almost believe you

 **v-nikiforov  
** it was true a long time before i started to say it

 **v-nikiforov  
** but i’m glad you’re starting to believe it now

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

_December 25, 2013_

 

 **katsuki-don** [screenshot image] #happybirthday #merīkurisumasu  
_singsingswing, phichit+chu, lovelifeleo, +guanghongji+, mari-chan, madonna-yuuko and 29 others like this._  
> singsingswing OMG THAT IS SO COOL  
> minakodeladanse see a ballet for me, please  
> minakodeladanse while you’re there

 

**[Yuuri’s messages; Instagram]**

 

 **v-nikiforov  
** I’ve been trying to translate your picture

 **v-nikiforov  
** without success

 **katsuki-don  
** it’s an email from NHK Japan

 **katsuki-don  
** confirming my internship with them

 **v-nikiforov  
** wow, that’s great! … are you really sure you want to do t.v.???

 **katsuki-don  
** viktor

 **katsuki-don  
** that’s not what it’s for

 **v-nikiforov  
**???

 **katsuki-don  
** there’s a big event coming up they need some help for

 **katsuki-don  
** phichit says you might have heard of it

 **katsuki-don  
** it’s in st. petersburg

 

\- - -

 

In Moscow, Viktor looked up from his phone suddenly, and Yuri Plisetsky, half asleep against his shoulder, shifted irritably and then immediately pretended like he hadn’t been caught in a catnap. “What is it, Vitya?”

“He’s coming to St. Petersburg.”

“Buta? Gross.” Yuri Plisetsky was a prodigy gymnast. Someday he’d be the best in the world, Viktor thought. For now he had to settle with holding the land speed record for eyeball rolling. “I mean. Yay. Great. Good for you.” The teenager got up, stretched, and stalked off towards the kitchen. “If you need me I’ll be getting the vomit out of my mouth now.”

 

\- - -

 

In Los Angeles, Katsuki Yuuri’s phone began to ring.

“How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me?”

It was Yuuri’s turn, now, to sound a little bit self-satisfied, and Viktor Nikiforov’s turn to be all nerves and energy. He loved it, though; the subtle, content hum in Yuuri’s voice, pleased with the months long delay in this one precious gift. “Viktor,” Yuuri breathed softly, and Viktor reveled in that, the way Yuuri always said his name like it was a miracle:

“I know how much you love surprises.”

“Nothing has surprised me as much as you, Yuuri.” Yuuri’s name, too, could be a blessing. It shouldn’t have surprised Viktor by now, this dynamic between them, the way every time he asked Yuuri to take a step further in his direction, nudged him further out of his comfort zone, Yuuri complied and complied beautifully. He remembered, suddenly, having asked, mostly-joking, in those first instagram messages after the Tokyo Olympics. Yuuri never talked about them now, but Viktor had come to understand them well enough to know that even with a bronze in hand Katsuki Yuuri considered that experience the worst week of his life, and struggled to see the ways in which beauty always grew back after a fire.

Viktor had forgotten all about it. And in the midst of his forgetting, he’d been scheming instead, talking to Katsuki Mari about whether or not he could surprise Yuuri with tickets. _No,_ she’d insisted, _he’ll be so embarrassed by such an extravagant gift._

As though Katsuki Yuuri deserved less than Viktor Nikiforov striking out through the universe to collect all of its stars, and then laying them at the gymnast’s feet. _Yuuri_ had remembered because Yuuri remembered everything. No detail escaped him.

They were so different and yet so necessary. It was like breathing. Viktor was beginning to forget what it had been like before Katsuki Yuuri had crept into his lungs. “Nothing.”

 

\- - -

 

_January 28, 2014_

They had packed _everything._ Everything included a double-take on Yuuri’s winter clothes (“you know what they say about Russian winters,” Leo had quipped, followed by a curious Phichit: “what do they say?”), more homework than he was really comfortable with, and a full bag of his gymnastics gear because Ciao Ciao had made him promise to find a gym. Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to manage that: the producers at NHK had emailed the production schedules and assignments of every single intern and suffice it to say Katsuki Yuuri was going to be fairly busy watching a number of sports he knew absolutely nothing about: Curling, for instance, which JJ had insisted was more awesome than it sounded, and some type of skiing / shooting event that seemed to imply he’d be standing outside for _hours._ Leo had given him a list of other sports to try and go see: something about half-pipe, for instance, and then he’d revealed that even Lee Seung-gil, who was silent as the grave on social media, had piped up to suggest that speed-skating was, in fact, an incredibly technical sport that required a lot of skill.

Now they were finished with all of that, and sat spread out on the floor in Yuuri’s room. One advantage of the new apartment and the third roommate had been finally getting a space to himself, not that it mattered: Phichit tended to be everywhere, all the time. “So,” Phichit murmured, turning his head to look away from the ceiling light over towards Leo, who sat at the foot of Yuuri’s bed, still drumming on the top of his legs with idle hands that never stilled whenever he got excited. “Can we start saying it’s pretty serious, you think?”

“I don’t know,” Leo mused, and he looked at Yuuri next, tilting his head. “What do you think, Yuuri? You and Viktor?”

 _You and Viktor._ Yuuri didn’t need to glance up at the over-door mirror to know that color must’ve been spreading over his cheeks like a fresh wildfire. Mari had put them together in a sentence like that once, over the summer, but at the end of the summer they’d still gone back to their separate schedules, separate countries, and while Yuuri’s instagram feed filled up with relatively monotonous details about his classes and the occasional NCAA meet, Viktor’s was a different story entirely. Viktor Nikiforov was a globe-trotting phenomenon, one of the most celebrated athletes of the St. Petersburg games, and he’d been wanted everywhere. Besides the normal ISU schedule — in which Viktor was still more than on his way towards another European Championship — there had been dozens of magazine shoots, interviews. Yuuri reached for Vicchan, and pulled the toy poodle into his lap. Hiding behind the dog wasn’t going to do him any good, but at least he provided some measure of comfort.

“… He asked me, once, if I thought he was my boyfriend, and I …” Yuuri shook his head, nuzzled closer to Vicchan’s fur. “I said I didn’t know, that it didn’t seem very practical, considering …”

“But you’ve spent the night with him a few times, haven’t you?” Phichit, sometimes, could be accidentally, unforgivably blunt. It was well-intentioned, but Yuuri stiffened a little bit, curled further in on himself.

“We just sleep,” he muttered defensively. That, though, was a bald-faced lie and even an irritable Katsuki Yuuri couldn’t lie to someone like Phichit, whose heart was always in the right place even when his methods were a little suspect. “Mostly. Generally. I’m not … I …” _Spit it out, Yuuri._ Phichit, he knew, had dated off-and-on around campus and was building up an impressive, if mostly amiable, list of ex-boyfriends. Leo had a cute girlfriend who wanted to be a nurse someday who he’d met while desperately attempting not to fail his anatomy classes. How much anatomy study they’d gotten around to after the fact was a mystery to even Yuuri; unlike Phichit, Leo never kissed and told. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I’ve never — I don’t ever — it’s never been like the way it is with him with anyone else,” mumbled the gymnast, certain now that he was as red as the _Team Japan_ coat still hanging up in his closet. “It’s a little overwhelming, to be perfectly honest.”

Confession made, he took a moment to glance over at his two closest friends, and then groaned, miserable. “I don’t know why Viktor puts up with it,” Yuuri said finally. Now that they’d gotten on the topic, he couldn’t stop talking about it, like one of those records that kept just sk-sk-skipping back to something it was best to move on from.

“I am going to make the biggest fool out of myself.”

“You know, nobody’s just like, naturally good at sex their first time,” Phichit said sagely. Then, trying to lighten the mood a little, he wiggled his eyebrows: “I kicked someone in the face once, even. Tell him, Leo?”

Now Leo was the one trying to hide a blush. “Tell him what, exactly?”

“You don’t mean — You and Sarah —“ Phichit sputtered, struggling to find an explanation for this sudden surprise. “You haven’t? I’m going to _run for President of the club and I live with two virgins —“_

“Phichit,” Leo said evenly, “you’ve been to my house in Los Angeles. You’ve gone to Midnight Mass. How would I explain it to Father Martinez?”

“I don’t give a damn what you tell _Father Martinez.”_ Phichit, beginning to recover now, snapped his fingers. “Do what every other good Catholic boy does in the Confessional and lie, Leo!”

Leo laughed. “I’m telling you, the Priest would know. And worse,” his voice dropped significantly, all seriousness and suspense: “ _mama_ would know.”

“Oh. Your mom _would,”_ Phichit agreed suddenly, and Yuuri laughed in spite of himself.

“Exactly. And then who would make Yuuri tamales at Christmas?”

Leo had been the one to text him at the airport, just before his plane was due to take off. _There’s more to being someone’s partner than just sex, Yuuri. You have that part down. Just talk to him._

 

_\- - -_

 

**[Instagram]**

 

_February 6, 2014_

**katsuki-don** i am so tired -____- #stpetersburg #nhktv #openingceremonies  
_phichit+chu, mari-chan, lovelifeleo, and 6 others like this._  
> phichit+chu PICTURES  
> phichit+chu I WANT PICTURES (╯✧∇✧)╯

 

 **christophe-gc** @v-nikiforov voted in by his teammates to be russia’s flagbearer this evening; so proud to call this man one of my best friends #stpetersburg2014 #openingceremonies  
_yuri-plisetsky, milamilamila, v-nikiforov and 218 others like this.  
__> _ christophe-gc listen to those cheers! vitya, vitya!

 

 **v-nikiforov** спасибо, Россия / i will never forget what it was like to walk onto the arena floor tonight; thank you for this gift beyond words, beyond all my wildest dreams #openingceremonies #stpetersburg2014  
> yuri-plisetsky yeah well imma be a flag bearer twice, vitya  
> christophe-gc did you have to ruin that moment or do you just hate joy  
> yuri-plisetsky why’s it always one thing or the other with you people?

 

\- - -

 

_February 13, 2014_

He’d hardly seen Viktor. As it turned out, working for a television company during the Olympics was nearly as busy as being an athlete in them, and _almost_ as stressful. Whatever Russian he’d brushed up on before leaving for St. Petersburg had handily failed him upon arrival. Nobody seemed to be interested in ordering fried eggs, or how many chairs were in the room, or whether or not their shirt today was green; they wanted to know how to navigate St. Petersburg, a city he didn’t know, and had nonetheless spent all of his free time wandering through because however busy he was, it seemed like Viktor Nikiforov was busier.

It hadn’t stopped Christophe or Yuri from seeing him, though; both of their instagrams were littered with photos of Russia’s number-one hero, to the extent that Yuri had almost resolved to stop checking his phone except that the video manager for Curling, a sport which Katsuki Yuuri could say with some confidence people in Japan didn’t care about, liked to text orders just as much as he liked to shout them.

Viktor sent messages, of course. He’d sent Yuuri all over St. Petersburg on a sightseeing trip that included all of his favorite places and a few other, lesser known spots: the skating rink where he’d gotten his start, for instance; his mother’s ballet school. They’d spoken on the phone a few times, even, although those conversations were brief, usually, and even Yuuri could hear the frenzy of activity always going on behind Viktor in the athletes’ village, or wherever it was that he went.

He just never seemed to be _alone._ It was suffocating, witnessing it even from this distance. _Is that what it’s like to be him all the time?_ Yuuri dreamt of someday being the world’s best gymnast, but what then?

Could he have carried Japan’s flag through the Tokyo arena and not crumbled under its weight? Every picture of Viktor showed him grinning anew, sparkling eyes and heart-shaped smile and sometimes the wink that made Yuuri’s stomach flutter. Like he hadn’t noticed at all. Like this could never wear him down.

He must have been made of stronger stuff.

Anxiety’s miserable voice had worse things to say, of course. It had already begun the process of dripping poison in Yuuri’s ear:

_He’s avoiding you._

 

\- - -

 

**[Yuuri’s messages; Instagram]**

 

 **v-nikiforov  
** you’re sitting with chris and yurotchka tonight right

 **katsuki-don  
** hey! yes! i’ll be there

 **katsuki-don  
** thank you for the ticket

 **katsuki-don  
** i can’t wait to see you, you’ll do great, you always do

 **v-nikiforov  
** ok good

 

\- - -

 

 _ok good._ Those two words grated on Katsuki Yuuri more than he wanted to admit, though he largely took it out on Christophe Giacometti and Yuri Plisetsky instead, sitting in the Russian Ice Palace in a determined silence, pointedly ignoring Plisetsky’s barbs and Giacometti’s curious looks.

He’d come _all this way_ to see Viktor skate. Because Viktor Nikiforov had asked him once, years ago. Put that way, it sounded ridiculous. There were thirty different skaters, organized into groups, and he’d slowly watched with growing interest at the variety of styles and backgrounds they each brought to the skate. Though he knew relatively little about figure skating, the ballet dancer in Yuuri was captivated by its strange, hostile grace; found himself interested in the intricacies each skater carved out in their footwork and with their extensions and spins, moreso than the audience, which was far more captivated by their flight. Cheers or gasps rang out after every jump, every fall.

Nothing, though, was as loud as the arena was when Viktor’s group took the ice for their warm up. When it was Viktor’s turn to take center ice, Yuuri leapt to his feet, grabbing the edge of the Russian flag Christophe and Yuri had brought to cheer him on. This was no time for doubt, or for comparisons, thinking about his own time in Tokyo.

This was Viktor’s moment and it deserved his full attention, his whole heart.

For a fraction of a second, as the skate began, it looked like Viktor Nikiforov was looking right at him, and then he’d swept into a backwards series of crossovers that carried him across the ice, farther and farther away.

Next to Yuuri, Plisetsky made a disgruntled grunt. “Not enough rotations,” he muttered to Christophe, who leaned forward in his chair, intent.

“.. Mm.”

“What is it?”

“He’s not skating particularly well.” Christophe watched as Viktor powered through one of his quad combinations, staying on his feet by sheer force of will — and one errant hand, sweeping along the ice when it shouldn’t have been — alone.

“Death by deduction,” grumbled Yurotchka, kicking at the seat in front of him. He didn’t apologize at the irritated woman who scowled back. Yuri Plisetsky’s scowling face was the more legendary by far.

 

\- - -

 

When it was all over, the legendary Viktor Nikiforov had a downgraded quad and four other deductions to his name, sitting in second place behind a Spanish skater whose program was less technical but had come off clean. The hometown crowd booed the result, though Christophe sat in silence and Yuri Plisetsky said nothing. Then the Russian teen got up suddenly, practically dragging both Christophe and Yuuri to the exit, and down into the depths of the arena, where he and Christophe both flashed credentials to be allowed backstage.

Yuuri’s NHK badge, only good for his specific sports, allowed him no further. _Stay here,_ Christophe had said, and so Yuuri waited, silent, until suddenly dozens of nearby cameras sprang to life, along with the steady and excited chirp of nearby onlookers, who began to crowd around. Viktor Nikiforov was leaving the rink behind his skating coach, his expression unreadable, blue eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, his headphones in (Yuuri realized, with a sudden, guilty flash of _knowing_ that this was every athlete’s universal sign language for _I’m not answering questions)_. Yuri Plisetsky followed him with a scowl. It was Christophe Giacometti who walked by Viktor’s side, with a hand on his shoulder, who leaned in to whisper something that seemed to give Viktor pause.

Katsuki Yuuri had never had such irrational hatred of someone else’s hand in his life. As Viktor passed out towards the crowd, evidently intent on stopping for autographs, he sprang forward, because his feet and his arms had come to life again:

“Viktor, don’t worry, you’ll do great tomorrow, I —“

Viktor’s hands, though, had fallen on his shoulders and interrupted the charge, keeping them firmly at arms’ length.

“I’m sorry,” he said in polite, accented English, and flashed the heart-shaped smile, the one that was miles away, unreachable. “Do you want an autograph?”

Yuuri stared at him in wild disbelief, and then slowly as the receding tide, he backed away.

 

\- - -

 

**[Texts; Viktor’s Phone]**

**Christophe:** i am going to go fix this for you  
**Viktor:**?  
**Christophe:** the YK situation  
**Viktor:** fix?  
**Christophe:** no  
**Christophe:** you don’t get to pull the ignorant act  
**Christophe:** you saw the look on his face  
**Christophe:** did you explain ANYTHING to him  
**Viktor:** explain what  
**Christophe:** MOTHERFUCKING RUSSIA, VITYA  
**Christophe:** did you set ANY ground rules  
**Viktor:** you don’t think he knew?  
**Christophe:** Jesus Christ Viktor if I didn’t respect you so much I’d strangle you right now  
**Christophe:** I am going to go find the kid whose heart you just stomped on  
**Christophe:** the one you’ve been in love with for at least a fucking year  
**Christophe:** and if you’re really lucky you’re only going to owe me one for the rest of my goddamn life  
**Viktor:** not everyone has your luxuries, Christophe  
**Christophe:** don’t you dare  
**Christophe:** you can beat me everywhere else, be the best goddamn athlete on earth, Vitya, and that’s fine  
**Christophe:** maybe more titles than anyone but Phelps  
**Christophe:** but this is not a fight you want to have with me  
**Christophe:** I’ve been Out for my entire career  
**Christophe:** and you’re punching above your weight class  
**Christophe:** …  
**Christophe:** and anyway I refuse to stand in for you  
**Christophe:** when the person you’re really mad at  
**Christophe:** is in the fucking mirror

 

**[Phichit’s messages; Instagram]**

**christophe-gc  
** figure out where katsuki is

 **christophe-gc  
** and do it quick, i need to find him

 **phichit+chu  
**??? ok

 

\- - -

 

Didn’t have to go very far to find a bar, at least. Yuuri knew enough Russian to order a drink. The first one had been entirely too strong, had made him sputter and sent the bartender into a fit of chuckles. He’d steeled himself and ordered another. Then another.

“Make it a double,” purred Christophe Giacometti over his shoulder, and when English didn’t do the trick, he made for a series of simple hand gestures: _I’ll have what he’s having._

“G’way,” Yuuri muttered, already tipsy, leaning into his anger. Between the two choices, outrage and despair, the furious road seemed the safest. “You win. You’re always with him, Christophe, you keep him.”

Christophe got the second shotglass and clinked it against Yuuri’s, threw it back. “Honey,” he hummed, “Dear, sweet, uninformed, precious child.”

“— not a child, damnit —“ Christophe held up one finger against Yuuri’s lips, and lifted his eyebrows pointedly, the way he’d sometimes done when silencing Yuri.

“Quiet. The grown-ups are talking.” Christophe seemed irritated too, although at who or what, he couldn’t quite say. “I have a few things to say to you, and you’re going to sit there and try to sober up and listen, because they’re important. Number one: I have a man, Katsuki Yuuri. I’ve been happily fucking a French swimmer named Etienne Lefevre ever since I picked him up in Tokyo. We’ve got an apartment in Geneva and a Persian cat and if you paid any attention whatsoever to anyone outside of your own immediate little bubble you’d know that already.”

“… Oh.”

“Yes.” Christophe now made what he hoped was a signal for water, and he pushed the glass in Yuuri’s direction: “Oh. Second. Have you ever heard of the Russian federal law _for the purpose of Protecting Children from Information Advocating for the Denial of Traditional Family Values_?”

“That sounds complicated.”

“It’s really not.”

Yuuri sipped at his water, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he grumbled, irritably. “Try me.”

“Sure, sweetheart. I don’t know how to give you the short version, kiddo, so you should buckle up. It’s a law they passed here back in June that is supposed to protect children from seeing anything that makes a homosexual relationship seem normal or regular. The government says that sort of media undermines traditional family values.”

He really ought to have been a lot better at processing those words; after all, Katsuki Yuuri was a communication major. It sounded like the sort of thing that would have infuriated Phichit, and maybe it had infuriated Phichit, but back in June Yuuri’d been at home in Hasetsu, far away from anything like this sort of news. “That sounds … confusing … and broad.”

Christophe rolled his eyes. “In other words, it’s illegal to promote LGBT lifestyles, culture, whatever here,” he said. “The fine for breaking the law is up to 5,000 rubles and _deportation,”_ he crooned.

“But that’s — that’s awful. It’s discriminatory. That’s against Olympic rules.”

“Passed unanimously,” Christophe said, mock-cheerfully. “And here we are, anyway, at the Olympics. Fancy that. Drink up, we’re leaving.”

“We?”

 _“We,”_ Christophe echoed, though he still seemed irritated, standing on the edge of some open nerve Yuuri still wasn't sure he understood. “I have no intention of letting my best friend win himself a silver medal just because he’s sometimes a fucking moron.”

 

\- - -

 

**[Texts; Viktor’s Phone]**

 

 **Christophe:** dropping the kid off at your place  
**Christophe:** you know, if you’re brave enough to leave the village, honey  
**Viktor:** he's not a kid  
**Christophe:** you might be though  
**Viktor:** that's enough, C  
**Viktor:** i'm on my way

 

\- - -

 

The taxi ride through St. Petersburg traffic had only helped Yuuri sober up a little bit because he rolled down the window, let himself feel the sting of Russia’s cold winter air. Christophe, for all of his force and fury at the bar, sat on the opposite end of the back seat in stony silence, fiddling with his phone until it was time to pay the fare. Then he took Yuuri what looked to be an apartment complex, after keying in a code at the front door, and then dragging the other gymnast up the stairs. “Where are we?” Yuuri asked as Christophe dug through his pocket for a set of keys, fiddled with a lock which wasn’t all that familiar. Then he was pushed inside, and the door unceremoniously shut behind both of them.

“Viktor’s apartment,” Christophe said flatly. “Make yourself at home.”

 _Viktor’s apartment._ It was a nice place, and in some ways, it looked familiar. At first Yuuri simply sat on the couch, fiddling with his shirt, listening to what sounded like a relatively heated phone call Christophe was taking in French from the kitchen. Curiosity, though: curiosity soon had glancing around at the room’s scattered photos, to its shelves, to the big open windows that looked down on St. Petersburg below. He stood up, _tired of sitting,_ and let himself drift. An architect back at Michigan had once told him that houses were portraits, too; that you learned something about people, once you were inside of their home.

A vintage photograph featured a ballet dancer, blue eyes sparkling, one hand extended wistfully towards the camera. She, too, had a heart-shaped mouth, but her hair was a honeyed shade of blonde instead of Viktor’s pale platinum. She wore it long, with a sweeping ponytail that made Yuuri think of Viktor’s last junior program, the one he’d worn a crown of flowers for.

“That’s his mother,” Christophe said, and Yuuri nearly leapt out of his skin. Amidst his thoughts the front door had opened and closed very quietly, and for the first time the apartment felt still.

“... It’s how I prefer to remember her,” Viktor added, and Yuuri turned to stare at him, twisting a toe around on the hardwood in careful, fragile silence.

“I’ll be going, now,” said Christophe, who made his way over to the door, and as he passed Viktor, he tilted his head, unable to resist a parting _I told you so_ : “Etienne agrees with me. He also says your kitchen’s pathetic. _Who doesn’t even keep tea,_ he says. Specifically that. So don’t tell me I didn’t try to make your guest at home.”

“ _I_ agree with you,” Viktor muttered, and he reached up to push Christophe out of his apartment, a gesture made of mostly stress and a tiny, irrepressible fond streak for the most ridiculous athlete on earth. “Now get out of my house.”

The door shut behind Christophe and for a moment it was just Viktor and Yuuri on the opposite ends of a living room that was too big, which felt empty, and then Viktor was walking across the room, every step intent and purpose, and he didn’t stop when he got to where Yuuri was. Instead he caught the Japanese gymnast by the waist, and pulled him to his chest. With his free hand he caught one of Yuuri’s palms, knot their fingers together. He sought out Yuuri’s mouth, covered it with a kiss that was _searing,_ that brought back flickers of a memory of a different night, a different Olympics, a different lifetime entirely.

Something had happened that was too important to make Yuuri melt, though, trapped where he was between Viktor’s body and the wall, and with his one free hand he pushed gently at Viktor’s sternum, separated them, bought himself a whole three inches of space. “No,” Yuuri murmured, flushed from head to toe, still a little tipsy, but _careful,_ oh-so-careful. “You don’t get to kiss this away, Vitya.” He’d always called him Viktor, had never yielded to the last horizon of familiarity so easily used by all of Viktor’s friends. “Tell me what happened earlier.”

They were Vitya and Yuuri now. He thought of Leo's text message, the one he'd ignored. They were going to talk.

 

\- - -

 

Christophe was right: Viktor did not have tea, but he had water, and glasses, and the couch; and at Yuuri’s insistence he sat on the far side of it. “I don’t know where to start, exactly,” he said, quietly, looking down at his hands with a blank expression; unguarded but still, somehow, wary.

“Anywhere,” Yuuri murmured, curling his fingers around his glass. “Start anywhere.”

“… Christophe’s been mad at me on and off since the summer really, ever since the Duma approved the new law,” Viktor murmured, casting a glance back towards the door as though the excuse of Christophe’s flare of temper, or his swift exit, would serve as a good enough opening. “He’s known about me for years, now, knows that I’m not a paragon of _normative heterosexual relationships._ I’m not …” A long pause followed; Viktor inhaled, exhaled, and then laced his fingers together and leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees. “Christophe is only attracted to men. Exclusively. And I’m attracted to people. All kinds of people. For all kinds of reasons. They’re interesting to me. I notice things, lots of little things. You, Yuuri — you hide behind your glasses a lot. And big, baggy clothes. Things that shield you from other people’s gazes. But you’re beautiful when all that’s stripped away. I mean it: you hide how attractive you are like you’re terrified of it. And sometimes I think that you _think_ you hate being touched, but you melt and you shiver every time I do it …”

“When you do it,” Yuuri added, defensively, even as color rose to his cheeks: _attractive,_ Viktor had said; almost the way he’d once said _surprising_. “Because _you_ do it.”

“It was just an example. I … It’s endearing, in its own way. It makes me want to protect you just as much as it makes me want to sneak in and shake up those walls, a little … move things around.” Viktor smiled wryly, self-deprecating, but somehow unapologetic. “I love a lot of things about you, Yuuri. But anyway: Christophe thinks I should have spoken out about it, back then, that I have all this influence to spare, that I could change things … he still thinks that I should, really. He’s been Out for his whole career. Except things don’t really work like that here. I’ve already told you about my father, but to be honest, I don’t even know if my mother would have approved, and then there’s still the problem of the government.”

“I sort of lied to myself, I guess, because I also thought that if I came out and said that there are men that I find attractive, the press would’ve asked _who.”_ Here Viktor looked up, and let his gaze linger on Yuuri. Predictably, the gymnast had stilled with his own dawning realization, drawing conclusions of his own, and in spite of his promise to stay on his side of the couch and keep his hands to himself, Viktor found himself drawing closer, setting his own glass down and then Yuuri’s, just to be able to take the gymnast’s hands into his own. “You’d hate all of that exposure. So in a way it was true. But Christophe doesn’t think I’m that selfless. He knows I’m doing it for me.”

“I don’t believe that,” Yuuri stated, and Viktor smiled, a little sadly.

“You always have the best picture of me in your heart,” he said softly. “But imagine this: suppose I said it, in an interview; said _I’m in love with a man_? Forget the sponsorships, the convenient travel, …” He lifted one hand to gesture around the flat. “The luxury apartment. Most people in Russia disapprove of homosexuality. I’d go from hero to disgrace,” Viktor explained, snapping his fingers: “Overnight.”

Yuuri was silent for a long moment, and then he looked up with brown eyes that were shining, that weren’t sad or disappointed in the way Viktor had prepared himself to expect at all. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“In love with a man.”

“Oh.” Realization dawned again, and with it, Viktor’s smile rose, and so did the sparkle of his eyes. “Yes,” he said, perfectly self-assured here in the privacy of his own home, where there were no cameras and no press and, for a short while at least, no Olympics, either. “Yes, I am.”

It was Yuuri, this time, whose kiss was pure fire, Yuuri who was climbing across the couch and into Viktor’s lap, his fingers spilling over Viktor’s neck and under the line of his jaw.

“God,” Viktor breathed, all blasphemous awe and incoherent praise, poured out into the perfect hollow of Katsuki Yuuri’s neck as his hands dove under Yuuri’s sweater, traced the secret strength the gymnast always hid. He wanted that sweater off, _now;_ wanted to drizzle kisses along Yuuri’s ribcage, wanted to smile in unbridled delight every time Yuuri shivered or squirmed. “This,” he said, against the corner of Yuuri’s mouth, and then he promptly fell into another kiss, deeper than the last but softer too. Yuuri let him break it long enough to pull the sweater off, though he blushed furiously at the long look Viktor gave him afterwards. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. You.”

Yuuri Katsuki, who’d learned horrible elementary Russian and then flown around the world for him, fueled by hope and the purity of his beautiful, fragile heart. Viktor wanted that. “I skated terribly today,” he warned Yuuri suddenly, with a flicker of mischief, running his fingers along the gymnast’s beltloops. “It’s rather somewhat your fault.”

“Second-best in the world isn’t too terrible,” Yuuri hummed, confident enough in his own skin for once to sass back, and Viktor shook with his own laughter, his own delight, tried to kiss away the words that came next: “Besides, it sounded like your fault —“

“It _was_ all my fault,” Viktor crooned, agreeably. “Now let me fix it.”

Yuuri laughed, and Viktor drank it up, soaked in a happiness and a relief he was sure he’d never known. Then he stilled, sweeping fingers through Viktor’s hair, looking down at him with eyes that deserved more than comparisons to chocolate or coffee, to mahogany, to the trailing ends of dying fires. Viktor didn’t have the words for the things he saw in Katsuki Yuuri’s eyes.

They were terribly, irrepressibly fond, though, and he supposed that would have to be good enough. “… Viktor, I …”

“Yes?”

“I don’t really know what comes next.”

It was Viktor’s turn to laugh, but he did it gently, turning his head to kiss and nip at the tips of Yuuri’s fingers. “I can fix that, too.”

 

\- - -

 

“… Vitya?”

“Mm?”

“I think I love you, too.”

 

\- - -

 

In the morning, Viktor was gone, but the sheets still smelled of him, of _them._

 _Them_ was another set of revelations entirely, the things they had done the night before, the things Viktor had taught him about his own body. It had been awkward and then it had been wonderful. He’d drowned under Viktor’s mouth, begging for anything _but_ the weight of that worshipping, and then Viktor had proven he was really only getting started. It wasn’t just Viktor who noticed people’s little habits. Yuuri, too, had learned a new one: when he was the least sensible, Viktor Nikiforov could only speak in Russian, and there were some choice phrases Yuuri was desperate to translate.

On the nightstand next to Yuuri’s glasses there was a fresh glass of water and a note:

_I need to get back to the village, people will want to know where I’ve been._

_In my interviews people always want to know how it is that I’ve managed to stay focused and win so many competitions and ever since the first one, my coach has always said to tell them a lie, something more believable than the truth. Something about focus and drive and rituals, something that makes people think that maybe with the right program or the right combination of habits they, too, could do what I do …_

_The truth is I don’t think about winning at all. ‘Lucky you, Viktor,’Katsuki Yuuri is perhaps thinking right now as he reads this; Katsuki Yuuri who takes the whole burden of victory on his shoulders every time he tumbles, who wants so desperately to make the whole world proud of him, who will probably always measure himself and find himself wanting unless he somehow learns to see in himself all the things I see when I look._

_Anyway: the simple truth is that I love to skate. I think ballet is beautiful. I think dance is beautiful. I think the ice has merciless, unmitigated grace. I started choreographing my own programs because I wanted to take what I feel on the ice and make it accessible somehow, give it away._

_We have a strange turn of phrase. It’s “we call everything on the ice love.”_

_People have told me I’m hard to be close to. But you did it so easily._

_Tonight’s Long Program is for you because I choreographed it for you. Let me skate it for you one last time:_

_Please, Katsuki Yuuri. Stay Close to Me._

 

\- - -

 

Before he left, he went through Viktor’s closet, stole an extra sweater.

It was too big for him, but then again: Viktor hadn’t been wrong.

He had no intention of returning it.

 

\- - -

 

“About time you showed up,” Yuri Plisetsky grumbled as Katsuki Yuuri took his seat. “The first group’s about to go on for their warm up.”

“I’m not worried,” said Yuuri, shoving his hands into his pockets and sitting back with an idle, surprising ease. “Viktor’s going to win.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the slightest flicker of Christophe’s mercurial smile.

_Thank you, Christophe._

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **v-nikiforov  
** _[image post, hand-written]_

I wrote last year that the real Olympic Spirit is love, that hearts grow bigger. Stay Close to Me is its own kind of love story, and to perform it in my hometown, in front of the people I care about most is a dream come true.

Setting a new world record while skating it at home had nothing to do with me,  
and everything to do with the strength of that love.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

#stpetersburg2014 #stayclosetome  
_katsuki-don, christophe-gc, yuri-plisetsky and 893 others like this._  
> yuri-plisetsky i’m only liking this because you made russia #1 tonight  
> milamilamila you’re fooling literally nobody, yurotchka

 

 **katsuki-don**. . . we call everything on the ice love . . .  
_christophe-gc, v-nikiforov, mari-chan, phichit+chu and 13 others like this_

 

 **christophe-gc** boom, flawless baby! almost came. #sorrynotsorry #oops #laws #comeatmethough #noreally  
_etienne+lefevre, katsuki-don, phichit+chu and 54 others like this_

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** sorry spain, go home @v-nikiforov is the king #stpetersburg2014 #goldmedal  
_katsuki-don, milamilamila, christophe-gc and 101 others like this_

 

 **phichit+chu** I’M NOT CRYING YOU’RE CRYING ✧٩(•́⌄•́๑)و ✧ #stpetersburg2014 #stayclosetome  
_katsuki-don, lovelifeleo, mari-chan, madonna-yuuko and 92 others like this_

 

**[Yuuri’s messages; Instagram]**

 

 **phichit+chu  
** YUURI

 **phichit+chu  
** IS THAT POST ABOUT YOU

 **phichit+chu  
** (*´o`*)ʖˋʖˋʖˋ～♡

 **phichit+chu  
** YUURI

 **phichit+chu  
** YOU ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW

 **katsuki-don  
** ♡

 

**[Viktor’s messages; Instagram]**

 

 **katsuki-don  
** do you know how amazing you are?

 **v-nikiforov  
** do you?

 **katsuki-don  
** i’ve been told

 **katsuki-don  
** but now I’m asking you

 **katsuki-don  
** do you know how amazing you are?

 **v-nikiforov  
** i’ve been told

 **v-nikiforov  
** “almost enough to believe it”

 **katsuki-don  
** it was true long before i started to say it ♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wikipedia tells me that the figure skating finals for the Winter Olympics in 2014 were on February 13 and 14 and why mess with a good thing? This chapter ends there, although the gymnastic’s season isn’t over yet and the Thai coup happened in May of 2014, so I still have to decide what to do about those things. The next chapter will take a little bit longer to write while I wrangle out my timelines; apologies in advance. I wrote this one in a rush and probably need to re-edit it >>
> 
> I wrote the start of this while listening to “Castle on the Hill” on repeat. I think I’ll figure out how to share my playlist for the blitz-writing that has been happening while putting this together when it's done. I'm considering writing a companion piece from the POV of other gymnasts in these seasons, to hand off the spotlight for a bit. Some other thoughts, potentially to help clarify things (or not) for our primary heroes since I think it’s useful background for this chapter:
> 
> Phichit is a theatre major and a music minor. He identifies as gay, he’s out, and he’s politely and beautifully wrangled Leo and Yuuri into being his allies in every sense of the word. Because this is his third year on campus he’s been elected an officer of the campus LGBTQ+ affirming club I’ve been referencing. I could write about Thailand’s sometimes-shitty-sex-culture at great length, but I won’t. Just know that this MATTERS to him deeply, no matter how silly I’ve got him running around being. I don’t specifically ship him with anyone so I’ve left his relationships deliberately vague on purpose. 
> 
> Leo is a sports management major and identifies as straight primarily due to his up-bringing and his exposure, tbqh, in part because it's my personal belief that human sexuality is a spectrum dynamic and so it's hard for anyone to be 100% of anything really. His parents are both Mexican-Americans living in LA; he’s a Catholic, but a fairly progressive one, and so he’s been very supportive of Phichit. Possibly something I’ll clarify if I ever get around to a companion piece. I don’t think he’s closeted, per se, or doing anything that's unnatural or inauthentic to him; just that it would absolutely require him meeting the right person to ever attempt a relationship with a guy. Stars aligning, that sort of thing. It'd have to really shake him out of his background, I think. Anyway as referenced, he's got his cute college girlfriend, and for the purposes of the story he's perfectly to be dating her, but they're that college couple that's going to fizzle out a long time before they ever have a shot at forever because they make better friends than lovers. If that makes any sense. It's a little late.
> 
> Yuuri is majoring in communications. Terrific idea, Yuuri. A++ you’re so good at talking about anything let’s hope you never actually follow up on this as a career bud. He’s minoring in dance, though. I have him somewhere on the spectrum of demisexuality; hopefully previous chapters have made that clear with all of his ???? when it comes to sexual identity. Japan’s not a place with this level of identity sophistication; I very much doubt that he had any words to potentially describe himself with until Phichit started dragging him out to places and meetings around campus. Point being he needs attachment first and attraction comes after and part of this story is about him figuring that out and Viktor being 100% the exact opposite and the two of them learning to live with that.
> 
> Christophe is out and proud, living in Switzerland with his boyfriend. Viktor's flaunting of their friendship on SNS is kind of Viktor's way of going against the anti-LGBT laws; he gets away with it because he never makes controversial statements in his interviews. For Christophe, who's an activist in terms of his political views in this story, that's a bit of a half-assed approach. He wants Viktor to be out and loud and proud, the way he is, which is ... probably just, but also perhaps a little unfair. Because there's not a wrong way to be gay. I was struggling so hard with how to write him until I outlined this chapter. His "EXCUSE YOU I HAVE A MAN" moment in here was the moment I knew I had him figured out, when I was outlining.
> 
> Viktor is somewhere in the area of monogamous pansexual. He’s attracted to humans. His father has some suspicions about his son’s preferences (long haired, flower-crown wearing hippie) and is not supportive. His previous relationships have all followed a pattern of developing intense, brief interest, and then once he’s got a person figured out or once things get hard he bails because his skating career is calling. Christophe alluded to that a bit in the first chapter. In a sense, Yuuri’s not being physically around is slowing that process around enough to let Viktor’s own feelings have time to grow on their own.
> 
> xoxo see you next level


	4. Controversy in Toronto! From the ashes comes the phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February 2014: Viktor Nikiforov follows his gold medal performance in St. Petersburg by winning the World Championships.  
> April 2014: NCAA Men’s Gymnastics Championships  
> May 2014: The Thai military seizes control over the government  
> June 2014: Viktor takes another vacation to Hasetsu; this time without the entourage. Yuri trains with Team Japan again.  
> July 2014: The Asian Games take place in Incheon, South Korea  
> August 2014: Leo, Phichit, and Yuuri return to the University of Michigan. Phichit and Yuuri are seniors; it’s their last year.  
> October 2014: Viktor skates his first assignment for Grand Prix at Skate Canada  
> April 2015: Phichit and Yuuri compete in their last NCAA championships before graduation
> 
> There is an interview later on in here where Viktor and Yuuri are answering questions from a crowd of students. If hate speech bothers you on a personal level, you should skip it.
> 
> One chapter left after this and then possibly an epilogue, not really sure! ♡

_February 18, 2014_

 

Even though his skating was all but finished, the rest of Viktor’s olympics had been a whirlwind of activity: dozens of different interviews, another magazine shoot, the skating exhibition, and an appearance at the closing ceremony. When he hadn’t been busy working or wandering through the city, Yuuri had glued himself to the local TV, which he understood less than half of to begin with. It wasn’t what people were saying that mattered. It was Viktor’s face, his evident happiness, the way he seemed to be looking through the camera like he was talking to Yuuri himself. He called more frequently. Babbled, really. Brought Yuuri out to a dinner that included Christophe, Yakov, Plisetsky — _Viktor’s friends_ , Yuuri understood now, because the public face, the heart shaped smile, all of it had been a way of crafting a public Viktor that Russia could still manage to love.

In a way, the public was the worse off for it. The real thing was better than the imagined one.

It wasn’t that they weren’t careful, weren’t still _secret._ At that dinner, he’d arrived with Christophe and Plisetsky, evidently some sort of third wheel for the gymnast contingent, and Christophe, in the interest of making peace, threw his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and then knuckled his hair while the paparazzi took pictures, brought Katsuki Yuuri under the umbrella and protection of his own fame.

He was never going to be like Christophe Giacometti, but Yuuri thought he might be beginning to understand him, which was better, truer. He, too, had gone back to NHK, had thought long and hard about what the stories might have been like if Katsuki Yuuri’s wild night out at the Olympics in 2012 had ever become public knowledge.

For now, he got to keep that part of Viktor all to himself. It was enough.

Now, again, he was seeing another part of Viktor nobody else got to see, standing in a small bedroom in a medical facility, learning, again, about the kind of man Viktor Nikiforov really was. There were vintage ballet pressings which had been carefully restored and laminated by someone who’d taken great care to preserve them. Yuuri stood in front of a case in the corner, looking at a series of trophies: some of them from ballet, still stamped with the iconography of the USSR; others referencing a series of achievements first in ballet and then in figure skating under the new flag of the Russian Federation.

Viktor who’d stopped in to check in with a nurse, a conversation held entirely in Russian, from which Yuuri had only gleaned that _she_ was having one of her better days, almost knew who she was.

In the cabinet there was a single gold medal, and there was a dried out flower crown.

“Mama?”

Viktor’s mother had his blue eyes and she only spoke in Russian. The TV was on and it was too loud.

“They’ve been showing the Olympics,” she said, with a series of affirmative nods, even as Viktor twined his hand in hers, kissed the back of it: “My Vitya is too young for them now, but he’s going to go, when they’re in Beijing.”

“Tell me about him,” said Yuuri, turning away from the cabinet to look at Viktor, sitting there with the mother who could no longer recognize him, his eyes shining and his heart broken anew: “Tell me about Vitya.”

Viktor, who knew by now when to play the part, who had gotten so good at hiding in plain sight, smiled a waterly smile: “Ms. Orlova,” he said, as though he were just an acquaintance, just someone who _worked here_ , _“_ This is Yuuri Katsuki.”

“That’s a strange sounding name, Vitya.” Nadezhda Orlova blinked and for a moment the fog seemed to be gone: “One of your skating friends, Vitya?”

“The second-most important person I know, Mama.” Viktor blinked hard, and there were tears, and he kissed the top of his mother’s head, reached over and gave her a hug. “Only after you.”

That moment of clarity had not lingered long: seconds, only, and later Viktor had excused himself, found a public restroom to shut himself into. Yuuri locked the door, crept closer, wrapped his arms around Viktor’s shoulders and threaded his fingers into Viktor’s silver hair.

“She’s beautiful, Vitya.”

“Yes.” Viktor’s fingers dug into Yuuri’s back, and he stood there for a long time, just breathing.

Later — before they’d left in separate cabs, because even in the most progressive and most beautiful of Russian cities, it wasn’t really wise for Viktor Nikiforov to see his own boyfriend off at the airport — Yuuri had asked him: 

_Why didn’t you give her your medal this time?_

_Because,_ Viktor had answered, _I’m going to give this one to you._

Later, though. Later when Katsuki Yuuri couldn’t be caught with it in his luggage, trying to explain himself to customs with a story too good for anyone to believe; least of all the Russian media, who’d put Viktor up on a podium so high that even his friends and his loved ones conspired to keep him from falling.

 

\- - -

 

_March 25, 2014_

 

**[espn.com, NCAA Men’s Gymnastics Ratings]**

 

1 Stanford  
2 Oklahoma  
3 Ohio State  
4 Michigan  
5 Penn State  
6 Minnesota  
7 California  
8 Air Force  
9 Nebraska  
10 Illinois

 

\- - -

 

_April 24, 2014_

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **phichit+chu** #goblue #NCAAchampionships #ARTESSCIENTIAVERITAS we’re here Columbus!  
_lovelifeleo, katsuki-don, ciaociaocialdini and 94 others like this._

 

 **lovelifeleo** #goblue #NCAAchampionships bus trips are the actual worst though  
_katsuki-don, phichit+chu, +guanghongji+ and 83 others like this._  
> lovelifeleo the women got to go to berkeley this year  
> lovelifeleo on an actual airplane  
> lovelifeleo also @phichit+chu made us watch gymnastics movies the entire way up  
> phichit+chu and i have sequels for the drive back! ╭( ･ㅂ･)و )))

 

\- - -

 

Another thing about Viktor Nikiforov: evidently he was a morning person. Katsuki Yuuri was not. So when he woke up in the hotel room he was sharing with Phichit for the trip, it was to a text message from Viktor, staying just a few floors up: _I’ve ordered room service. Come by for breakfast. 821._

Yuuri took the stairs instead of the elevator. Safely behind closed doors, even his kisses were peppered with apologies: _I can’t stay for long, Ciao Ciao wants us out for warmups by 9 —_

“I just wanted to give you this,” Viktor said, and he draped the gold medal from St. Petersburg around Yuuri’s neck, and then looked at it speculatively. “Gold looks good on you,” he quipped. “Next time you win one, and I’ll kiss it.”

 

\- - -

 

_April 27, 2014_

 

**[MGoBlue.com]**

 

The Michigan Wolverines fell just short of passing by rival No. 2 Oklahoma in this weekend’s NCAA Championships during the Team All-Around finals. No. 1 Stanford took home the title with a team score of 445. In addition to capping off their season with a strong third place finish, Celestino Cialdini’s Wolverine team improved in every event, with standout performances from Yuuri Katsuki on Floor, where he took first place, and surprise third place finishes on Pommel and on Parallel Bars. Phichit Chulanont captured a second place finish on vault, his stand-out event, just behind the Stanford Captain, and Leo de la Iglesia edged Katsuki out for a silver in his favorite: Parallel Bars.

Unlike any controversy surrounding last year’s finals, remarks from the coach of the Oklahoma Sooners were brief, and Cialdini focused more on his team’s improvements over the course of the past twelve months during his interview. “We would have loved to take home the top score, of course,” he noted, at the end of his presser, “but I’m very happy with the improvement the team has made this year, and I’m looking forward to next season.”

Next season will be the last for the two gymnasts who were the subject of last year’s brief controversy over international students on NCAA teams: Chulanont and Katsuki will both graduate. Asked about what he felt about his upcoming senior year, Phichit Chulanont displayed the optimism which has become a defining characteristic of his gymnastics career:

“What better way to finish up your college career than to go out on top?”

You heard it here first, Blue fans: next year the Wolverines are going to be #1.

 

\- - -

 

_May 20, 2014_

 

Katsuki Yuuri’s mornings usually began with a wake-up call from Vicchan, over-eager for his morning walk, and this morning was no different than any other: he threw on a school tracksuit, sneakers, got the leash, and wandered into the kitchen fully intending to grab a snack to eat on the way.

“Hey, Phichit.”

Phichit, who was always there, usually eating the most ridiculous of cereals. At first it didn’t register, Phichit’s non-response, and so Yuuri fetched an apple, and turned back to the kitchen, to the Thai gymnast whose phone was spilled out over the counter, whose laptop sat open, whose Trix were well on their way to soggy:

“Phichit?”

Phichit sat up, slowly, but it took a while to recognize the resignation in his face, as foreign and unnatural a thing as it was. Phichit Chulanont was the unending optimist of the house, had a never-ending supply of good cheer. Why, then …?

“Thailand declared Martial Law last night,” he muttered, and pushed his breakfast away. “Guess it was about that time. Give me Vicchan’s leash. I’m going for a walk.”

Leo was awake when he came back with the dog, clued in by Yuuri on the latest news. They tried their best to be consoling, but for once Phichit Chulanont shrugged off hugs, wouldn’t let himself be consoled. _I have finals to get to,_ he said instead. _See you after class._

 

\- - -

 

 _After class_ turned out to be much, much later: long after Leo, of all people, had gone to fetch Phichit from the bar he was live-blogging his string of shots from.

“Is it going to be safe for you to train in Thailand?”

“‘ll b’fine,” Phichit muttered, half asleep on the couch. They’d been utterly unsuccessful at trying to relocate him elsewhere. The next morning, from the depths of his hangover, he’d explain himself a little differently:

 _We can’t ever get it right,_ he’d said, _between the haves and the have nots._

“Stay here. Keep training with Ciao Ciao.”

“No.” Phichit could be resolute, too. “I’m going home.” His family was in Bangkok; his heart, too. “Just because it might be uncomfortable doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing.”

 

\- - -

 

 

**[Instagram]**

 

_May 31, 2014_

 

 **phichit+chu** back home! will be in thailand for a couple months training for the #asiangames  
_lovelifeleo, yuri-plisetsky, +guanghongji+, katsuki-don, and 116 others like this.  
_ > phichit+chu more determined than ever to bring home a medal (•̀o•́)ง

 

**[Phichit’s Messages; Instagram]**

 

 **lovelifeleo  
** is everything ok?

 **lovelifeleo  
** you’re safe right

 **phichit+chu  
** politically: a little tenative

 **phichit+chu  
** but i’m fine, so is my fam

 

 **katsuki-don  
** how are things in bangkok?

 **phichit+chu  
** omg you worriers i’m fine gosh

 

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **phichit+chu** @katsuki-don and @lovelifeleo are the best not-mom and not-dad a little gay boy can have ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
_yuri-plisetsky, ciaociaocialdini, +guanghongji+, lovelifeleo and 81 others like this._  
> katsuki-don rude  
> phichit+chu gonna ground me, mama? ( ◞･౪･)  
> katsuki-don =____=  
> Jjleroy!15 let’s be real though eh? leo definitely was never going to be the one to wear the apron  
> katsuki-don RUDE  
> Jjleroy!15 #jj-style

 

_June 9, 2014_

 

**[Yuuri’s Email]**

**From:** ccialdini@umich.edu  
**To:** ykatsuki212@umich.edu  
**Subject:** Thoughts on Next Season  
**Body:**

Yuuri,

With this year’s senior class off to bigger and better adventures and our new recruits confirmed for next year I find myself in the unique position of needing to designate a new Team Captain for the 2014-2015 season.

 _“Great,”_ you’re thinking, while reading this email, _“choose Leo. Choose Leo, choose Phichit, choose literally anyone else but me.”_ Here’s the deal though, Yuuri: it is the responsibility of every coach to know when’s the right time to push his athletes, to ask them to give a little bit more.

The truth is that I believe the team will respond best to you. Other coaches would worry about your confidence, wonder if the extra responsibilities might be too much of a burden, and as I’m sure no doubt you’d agree, those concerns are valid ones. You are plagued with doubts like few other athletes I’ve ever had to coach.

Yet you also have a unique ability to inspire love and loyalty in every person you surround yourself with, and I think that’s a far more valuable asset. It’s yours for the taking, the C.

But only if you want it.

This offer is being made via email so that you don’t feel obligated to tell me “yes” over the phone because you just want to be a good student, a good teammate. Think about it. Take your time. If you respond before July in either case I’ll be sorely disappointed. Be sure that it’s what you want, or what you don’t want.

Good luck with summer training, and at the Asian Games —

Ciao Ciao

 

\- - -

 

 _June 14, 2014_  
  
Hasetsu, Japan

_You have a unique ability to inspire love and loyalty in every person you surround yourself with._

The words had stayed with Katsuki Yuuri in a way that Celestino Cialdini’s words didn’t often do. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Ciao Ciao was an amazing coach; quite the opposite, he knew as much about gymnastics as just about anyone, Yakov Feltsman included. Yuuri supposed he wasn’t the easiest person to coach to begin with: he wanted to be good, the best, really, but he lacked the bravado of JJ or the sheer technical prowess of a person like Yuri Plisetsky.

An early coach had once told Yuuri that he fell well. _How is that a good thing?_ He’d asked. _It means you can always pick yourself back up off the floor._

“Something on your mind?” Viktor’s voice shook Yuri out of his reverie, and he lifted his head from where he’d rested it against Viktor’s shoulder as they sat in the hot springs. Viktor, who’d decided the best place to create his new free skate was Hasetsu, Japan, and who had therefore rearranged his schedule to spend two whole weeks in the country: first, by accepting a photoshoot and interview in Tokyo, accomplished during the week while he was in training in Osaka; second, by planning on spending a whole week in Hasetsu by himself — the upcoming one — just to skate at the Ice Castle, and get to know the people who knew Yuuri best.

Next weekend they were going to Kyoto. That was all Viktor’s doing, too.

“Saa….” Yuuri exhaled, and looked up at the pointed, elegant taper of Viktor’s jaw. “Coach Cialdini emailed last week to ask me to be Michigan’s Captain, and Mitsurou-sensei has been asking me whether or not I think I could anchor an All-Around, again.” _Hopefully with more success_ went unspoken; he didn’t want to be thinking about that now.

“I see.” Viktor had a certain look when he was really examining something, and it wasn’t exactly comfortable to be put underneath it. Around Viktor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri felt more transparent than usual, and this look, all piercing azure scrutiny, could’ve plied secrets out of anyone, he thought. “You’ve told them yes, I assume.”

“… Well, no, not yet.” Yuuri quickly lifted both of his hands, trying to cut off Viktor’s budding frown. “I just. It’s …”

“Yes?”

“Ciao Ciao says I inspire loyalty in the rest of my teammates.”

“Yes.” The single syllable, such a simple confirmation, was more than somewhat unhelpful. Like Viktor Nikiforov thought Yuuri Katsuki was missing something obvious, as though he'd added up the numbers one and one, and gotten three.

“Well … what if … what if …” Viktor’s fingers curled on his neck, gentle, encouraging, _coaxing_ and Yuuri swallowed his nerves. _Out with it._ “You remember Kenjirou from last summer, right? He’s been following me around for so long, Viktor. He says he just wants to be as good as I am. But look at what happened in Tokyo. I let everyone down, there. Everybody. What if I’m not what they think I am? What if all their trust is misplaced? Kenjirou even looked me in the eye once and told me he’d never act the way Yuri did with Georgi, but … what if that’s what I deserved? What if —“

“Interesting.” Viktor drew his hand back, and stood up with a languid stretch. Even here, now, Yuuri felt himself blush.

“What?”

“I didn’t realize you could be so selfish,” Viktor murmured, and he stepped out of the Hot Spring, wrapped a towel around his waist. Yuuri blinked, staring at him:

“S-selfish?”

“You’re the best athlete on both of those teams, Katsuki Yuuri,” Viktor said calmly, turning to look back at him with a clear, calm expression. “You owe it to your teammates to put them in a position that maximizes their chances for success.”

“But what if I can’t— what if — Viktor —“ He stilled, in part because Viktor had leaned over, and pressed a finger to his mouth.

“Curious.” Here, Yuuri thought; here he was learning again about the litter sliver of Viktor Nikiforov that was merciless: and yet Viktor was already offering him a hand, pulling him out of the pool. He swept back Yuuri’s hair and offered a small smile:

“How do you plan to inspire yourself, if you’re blind to how much you inspire everyone around you?”

 

\- - -

 

_July 18, 2014_

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **seung-gillee** all 45 nations are competing! #asiangames #openingceremonies #incheon2014  
_phichit+chu, katsuki-don, +guanghongji+, and 285 others like this._  
> katsuki-don good luck!  
> seung-gillee luck has nothing to do with it, katsuki  
> phichit+chu . . . so cold, sheesh . . . ((((；゜Д゜)))  
> seung-gillee preparation, phichit  
> seung-gillee never luck.

 

 **otabek-altin** carrying the kazakhstan flag today at the #openingceremonies of the #asiangames  
_yuri-plisetsky, v-nikiforov, +guanghongji+, and 14 others like this._  
> yuri-plisetsky the hero of kazakhstan  
> yuri-plisetsky marching off to war?  
> otabek-altin indeed

 

\- - -

 

Watching from Viktor’s apartment in St. Petersburg, Yuri Plisetsky looked over at Viktor Nikiforov:

“It’s bullshit that they don’t let Russia into the Asian games,” he said, scowling. “Where the fuck do people think Siberia is? Super East Europe?”

“You think we should compete in both?” Viktor asked idly, sitting up on the couch to dig through the paper bag Yuri had brought with him, some new invention of his grandfather’s, evidently inspired by the teen’s brief descriptions of the Japanese cuisine he’d gotten introduced to before. “Seems a bit unfair.”

“What’s unfair is the margin Beka’s going to put up over everyone else on rings,” Yuri muttered.

“Beka?” Viktor was not particularly good at the innocent act, in Yuri’s opinion; at least not without people who had learned to see beyond him whenever he was purposefully acting this air-headed.

“We’re friends now,” Yuri said, and then he glared in Viktor’s direction. “Don’t get any ideas. We’re splitting that last Pirozhki.”

 

\- - -

 

_July 22, 2014_

 

“Yuuri! That was amazing. Ciao Ciao’s going to be so happy when he sees you’ve gotten on the podium in parallel bars, too, after all the work you guys did last year on that routine…” Phichit was already finished with vault, and hadn’t stopped taking selfies in various places, beaming next to his silver medal and making all sorts of outrageous promises to parade it through Bangkok. _We have no idea when elections are going to be, you guys. People need some good news._ He hadn’t been the first one to make it to Yuuri to celebrate; somehow Kenjirou Minami was there first, over-eager to celebrate with his hero, but he’d stayed for longer, walking with Yuuri back through the arena to gather his things after the medal ceremony.

They rounded a corner and nearly bumped into Seung-gil Lee, who’d stepped onto the podium in third place and then fixed his black gaze on the descending flags without so much as a blink.

“Tell me how you beat me.”

“Ah!” Yuuri, who apologized too frequently for even Phichit’s liking, had already begun to bow as though he were the one at fault, and then he was looking up at Seung-gil, _concerned_ for this strange, stoic stranger.

_… I wonder if he’s as disappointed with his placement as I was with mine, back in Tokyo …_

“Seung-gil, are you okay?”

“I will be fine.” Even his language was too damn precise, Phichit thought. It simultaneously acknowledged his disappointment and in the same singular breath held everyone off at a distance, like they had nothing to offer. “My bar routine is more technically sound than yours. I didn’t have to travel to come here. I made one minor mistake. Tell me what it is.”

“Can’t you just congratulate him?” Phichit stepped between them, and looked up at the Korean with a scowl. “Yuuri’s never done this well on bars and you’re just standing here being a dick wanting to know about yourself —“

“ — Phichit — “ Yuuri’s voice was half warning, half pleading.

“Shut up, Yuuri. He needs to learn this. Gymnastics is more than calculation, Seung-gil Lee.” Phichit tilted his chin up, crossed his arms. “Yuuri beat you tonight because he does everything with feeling.” He tapped the stoic Korean on the chest. “If you want to beat him, come back and see us when you’ve got that figured out. Yuuri, let’s go.”

Like always, though, Katsuki Yuuri had other ideas: he reached out and gave Seung-gil a hug. “Congratulations,” he said, as Seung-gil tensed up at the invasion of space. Then, as soon as it happened, Yuuri had stepped back, and was offering a gentle smile. “Find something that inspires you before Vancouver, Seung-gil.”

“Inspires me?”

“That’s what I’ve done.”

“Mmn.” Seung-gil stepped back to let them through, and then, just as they’d passed, he looked up: “Hey, Katsuki?”

“Yeah?”

“Congratulations.”

Phichit’s smile, never gone for long, came back in full force.

 

\- - -

 

_July 25, 2014_

 

**[Instagram]**

 

singsingswing TEAM FINALS AHHHHH YOU GUYS WE DID SO WELL #asiangames #teamjapan  
_katsuki-don, phichit+chu, +guanghongji+, and 78 others like this._  
> katsuki-don couldn’t have done it without that high bar performance! @yuri-plisetsky watch out  
> yuri-plisetsky ugh  
> yuri-plisetsky come at me shortstuff  
> singsingswing sorry yurio  
> singsingswing i missed what you said

 

singsingswing here’s a picture of the final rankings from horizontal bar just in case @yuri-plisetsky missed them #asiangames   
_katsuki-don, phichit+chu, Jjleroy!15, and 92 others like this._  
> Jjleroy!15 gold is #jj-style! congratulations  
> yuri-plisetsky brat  
> christophe-gc pot, meet kettle

 

\- - -

 

“See,” Viktor crooned over the phone, at the end of the Team Final, after the medal ceremony, while Yuuri turned his silver over and over again in his hand. In his suitcase there were already three other medals: a gold from men’s individual floor, for his boyfriend to kiss; the silver surprise in individual parallel bars; and, perhaps most surprising of all, but also the best: bronze in the men’s all-around.

Because he’d qualified. “I told you that you could do it.”

“I kept your note in my bag,” Yuuri murmured, flopping back onto the bed to stare up at the ceiling and wonder how it was that he could be so lucky. “From St. Petersburg.”

Viktor could be coy, too. Playful. Yuuri could perfectly picture his smile and the little sparkle of chaos in his eyes. “I hope that’s not the only thing you remember from St. Petersburg.”

“It isn’t,” Yuuri admitted, laughing in spite of himself. “But I wasn’t thinking about winning today. Just about …”

“About what?”

“About you. About how I knew you’d be watching.”

“What was that like?”

“Better.” Yuuri exhaled, and realized he couldn’t quite put it into words, the way even so far away the mere thought of Viktor Nikiforov could sweep into him and hold him up, like a second skeleton, a better one. Viktor, who he sometimes thought knew him better than himself. Viktor, who had taught him what it meant to actually inhabit a body. “Better than I could’ve ever imagined,” he murmured warmly. “Everything with you is.”

“You’re making me blush,” Viktor chirped, but he was laughing, and it warmed Yuuri’s heart more than any victory could. “The feeling is mutual.”

In the background, muffled knocking sounded on the door, along with a teenager’s shouting, and this time Katsuki Yuuri understood every word:

_Vitya tell him you love him and get off the fucking phone already. You’re making me sick._

“Tell Yuri I say hello,” Yuuri laughed. “He’ll love that.”

“Oh, he will.” The quiet menace was back into Viktor’s voice again, the part of him that could be cold, the part already planning to ride alongside Yuri while he ran through Moscow on a bicycle, just _to pass the time_ : “I’ll make sure of it.”

 

\- - -

 

**[CiaoCiao’s Email]**

 

 **From:** ykatsuki212@umich.edu  
**To:** ccialdini@umich.edu  
**Subject:** Re: Thoughts on Next Season  
**Body:**

 

I will do my best to try to make sure you're right.

 

\- KY

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

 

_August 25, 2014_

 

 **lovelifeleo** roomie selfie! back to class with CAPTAIN @katsuki-don and PRESIDENT OF CAMPUS PRIDE @phichit+chu #goblue #wolverines  
_phichit+chu, katsuki-don, mari-chan, ciaociaocialdini and 139 others like this._  
> katsuki-don I won’t let you guys down!  
> phichit+chu look at these handsome fellas gearing up for their most epic year yet ٩(˃̶͈̀௰˂̶͈́)و

 

 **phichit+chu** check out today’s article in The Michigan Daily, written by yours truly and introducing FreshSpectives on behalf of Campus Pride for our incoming #lgbt+ freshman  
_katsuki-don, lovelifeleo, christophe-gc, and 212 others like this.  
_ > christophe-gc well done, phichit!

 

_October 13, 2014_

 

 **Jjleroy!15** she said yes! isabella yang has just agreed to put up with a whole lifetime of #jj-style #canadianthanksgiving  
_lovelifeleo, phichit+chu, +guanghongji+, and 581 others like this._  
> phichit+chu ٩(♡ε♡ )۶  
> katsuki-don wow  
> katsuki-don when’s the wedding?  
> Jjleroy!15 after vancouver  
> Jjleroy!15 (gonna bring home the gold!)  
> yuri-plisetsky this again  
> Jjleroy!15 hey yuri have you hit puberty yet?  
> Jjleroy!15 remind me to tell you about what happens when boys like girls the next time we see each other  
> yuri-plisetsky I DO NOT NEED YOU TO TELL ME ABOUT THE BIRDS AND THE BEES  
> Jjleroy!15 oh? got experience already?  
> yuri-plisetsky SHUT. UP.  
> v-nikiforov I think what the rabid kitten means to say is “congratulations”

 

\- - -

 

_October 23, 2014_

Toronto, Canada

In all of his previous relationships, Viktor Nikiforov had known how to handle travel. He’d simply left his partner back in St. Petersburg and boarded a plane and jet off to wherever else in the world he was supposed to be, certain that upon his return with something as simple as a phone call (or, for that matter, the pointed absence of one) someone could be beckoned back into bed. Everything had happened on his schedule; after all, he was the world-class athlete, the living legend.

He got to make the demands. He never went hungry.

Then Katsuki Yuuri blew into his life like a leaf carried by a hurricane, but that was all it took: one leaf on the surface of one placid pond, shattering any perception of serenity, with ripples in every aspect of his life that Viktor Nikiforov still couldn’t measure.

He doubted that Yuuri felt the physicality of their absence in the same way he did. _Drunk_ Yuuri may have stumbled once, eager and willing and starving for touch into Viktor’s arms, but _sober_ Yuuri had been a different matter entirely, had resisted and stumbled into closeness, had left Viktor stranded with an entirely novel situation — desperate, steady _wanting_ — for well over a year.

He could be forgiven for overindulging on the rare days they were together. He could be forgiven for conspiring to make those days happen more often. _To hell with the NCAA,_ Viktor insisted irritably on the phone, at the start of Yuuri’s semester. _We are seeing each other and I am flying you out to Toronto for Skate Canada and that is the end of it._ Because he wanted, because he was hungry, because he needed to know if Yuuri still squirmed if Viktor’s fingers drifted over his knee and up the inside of his thigh. Because he wanted to know if Yuuri still had the same reaction to being kissed just under his jaw, or on the inside of his wrists, or along the bow of his hips. If Yuuri’s fingers could still leave little crescent-shaped marks like a collection of freckles on his shoulders, when his grip got too desperate, whenever Viktor brought him _too close, oh, god —_

If Yuuri still said _oh, Vitya,_ under very specific conditions, as though it were a prayer.

If it was still possible to see that face, so gentle, so anxious, awash in a bliss he’d been the one to bring about.

These were important matters, and not since Hasetsu had Viktor Nikiforov had the luxury of falling asleep wrapped around Katsuki Yuuri. There were a million different things to love: the brush of Yuuri’s toes against his ankles, for instance, or the tickle of his breath. After Yuuri graduated, he was going to have to do something about it, this little addiction, these little thoughts he sometimes entertained about _forever._

The Grand Prix and Skate Canada awaited in the morning, but none of it mattered more than the sleepy way Yuuri had mumbled an _I love you_ in Russian for Viktor’s benefit, into his collarbone, while he slept.

His Russian was getting quite good, in retrospect.

Viktor’s Japanese was still terrible.

Another thing to settle someday, in the future that stretched out ahead of him, long and bright.

 

\- - -

 

_October 27, 2014_

 

“I know you skate all the time, and if you’re tired from Skate Canada we don’t have to do it, but I thought maybe we could go for fun …”

“Yuuri, you should’ve told me you skated when we were in Hasetsu,” Viktor admonished, packing his skates into a Team Russia bag he hadn’t stopped using since St. Petersburg. So many good things had happened in St. Petersburg; memories that were so bright and so beautiful Viktor sometimes thought they were too good to be born by just one person.

He’d use that bag until it got holes in it, and then he’d have them fixed, and use it again.

“Sorry!” Yuuri was sheepish, ruffling a hand through his hair. “I just — I just wanted to watch you, and it never came up —“

“It’s okay. Let’s go.”

As it turned out, Yuuri was a slightly better skater than he let on, to Viktor’s surprise and delight. After a lap around the rink (Viktor made three, in the same amount of time) he was no longer near the handrail, and, when encouraged, even spun around to skate slowly and carefully backwards, which had sealed his fate, really: Viktor had captured both of Yuuri’s hands in his own with an earnest smile:

“Do you trust me, Yuuri?”

Yuuri spoke the words he would soon come to regret without an ounce of hesitation: “Of course.” What he had not been expecting was the way Viktor had pulled him close, then, and begun to pull them both around the ice, in a strange sort of dance that was terribly clumsy on Yuuri’s fault and still, somehow, all grace and confidence on Viktor’s, like everything on the ice, even dragging around a beginner amidst a small crowd of other skaters, was as simple as breathing. Neither of them noticed a young woman sitting on the sidelines stretching for her warm-up, an aspiring figure skater lacing up her own white skates. Yuuri was too preoccupied with Viktor’s words in his ear, and the brush of his hands, constantly making adjustments, making sure with every whirl of their skates that Yuuri never fell: _lean forward, relax your shoulders, breathe, Yuuri —_

_Is that Viktor Nikiforov?_

It was! She’d seen him, just the day before, at Skate Canada, and there was no mistaking the iconic flag on his figure skates.

_Amazing, I wonder if he’d sign an autograph —_

The two figures at the center of the rink slowed to a stop, and Viktor Nikiforov’s hands left the shoulders of the young man he’d been coaching (that’s what it was, right, surely?), and, in the middle of his laughter, leaned forward for a kiss.

 

\- - -

 

Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure what had happened overnight. They’d gone shopping, gotten Thai food in memory of Phichit, wandered back to the hotel with Viktor’s arm around his shoulders, and then Viktor had gotten a phone call, and his expression had turned serious, and he’d stepped outside into the hallway to have a conversation Yuuri couldn’t hear and could rarely understand.

“Viktor?”

Viktor looked like a different man when he came back inside, his smile erased, his expression serious. “Yuuri,” he said carefully, “give me your phone.” Yuuri handed it over, curious, worried even, and he watched while Viktor sat down in a chair for a long moment of silence, thumbing through it for several minutes before he handed it back, all of the privacy settings updated on nearly every app.

“… Vitya, what is going on?”

“Someone took a video of us today. My agent got in touch with her and she’s taken it down and is apparently incredibly apologetic but —“

Katsuki Yuuri felt like the floor had suddenly fallen out from under him. “But it’s too late,” he said, gently.

“The story breaks tomorrow,” Viktor said, resting his hands on his knees, head down, expression hidden behind the platinum curtain of his bangs. “You’ll be next. Start thinking about who you need to call.”

Yuuri let the words sink in and then darted across the hotel room, kneeling on the floor in front of Viktor’s chair. He reached up for Viktor’s hands, and took them into his own, leaving them knotted on Viktor’s knees. “Tell them it was my fault,” he said, earnestly. “Tell them I’m an overeager fan and you were just being nice and teaching me how to skate. Tell them —“

Viktor’s voice was unexpectedly rough. “Yuuri.” He yanked a hand free, and reached underneath Yuuri’s chin, tilting it up to search the gymnast’s eyes, his own gaze turbulent and stormy. “You are not going to sacrifice yourself on my account.”

“Christophe told me about the propaganda laws, though —“ _let me do this, Viktor; let me do this one good thing for you_ “ — you could lose sponsors, and the media, they’ll —“

“Ah.” Viktor exhaled, his expression grave, and he slowly inched out of the chair, and lowered himself to the floor, cupping Yuuri’s face in both hands. “And how much more forgiving will Japan be, do you think?”

“We — there are traditionalists, sure, but we don’t have _laws —_ “

“So better you suffer than me, is that it?”

“That’s not what I —“

“Yuuri.” Viktor shook his head. _Someday you’re going to love yourself as much as I do._ He reigned in his temper, and blinked back a surprise onset of _tears,_ which only made the gymnast’s expression of alarm deepen. Yuuri’s fingers crept up Viktor’s arms, their grip as firm and desperate as ever. “Yuuri,” Viktor said: “If you did that I would never be able to live with myself.”

“But why?”

“Because you are not worth _less_ than me, Katsuki Yuuri. A man’s measure isn’t just in the count of his medals or his championships.” Viktor’s hand slid down Yuuri’s shirt, and rested over his chest. “It’s here, in his heart, and yours … yours is _so pure,_ and what sort of person would I be, to let the whole world hear about it as something other than what it is?”

“I don’t care about the whole world! I care about _you.”_

Viktor smiled softly and sadly, but his gaze was serious. “Then care about me enough to do what comes next together.” He remembered, suddenly, at such a strange time, the accusation so frequently leveled in his direction by previous lovers: _when things get hard, you disappear._ “Care enough to stay through it.”

Yuuri fell into him, then, arms and that desperate desire to crawl closer, and closer still: “Okay,” he wept, still mumbling apologies, still trying to fix something that was just going to have to come crashing over the shore and break: “I promise, Viktor, I’ll make all this worth it.”

“You were worth it from the beginning,” Viktor murmured, seeking out Yuuri’s lips, then, mumbling the next against the solace of his mouth. “You have always been worth it.”

 

\- - -

 

_October 28, 2014_

 

**[Viktor’s messages, instagram]**

 

 **christophe-gc  
** holy shit

 **christophe-gc  
** viktor are you ok

 **v-nikiforov  
** watching my career die in realtime

 **v-nikiforov  
** otherwise fine

 **christophe-gc  
** you’re one of the best athletes on earth

 **christophe-gc  
** you’re going to be fine

 **christophe-gc  
** etienne and i have room in geneva if you need a place to crash

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **phichit+chu** [series of image posts, handwritten]

I have spent the morning trying to cool off from my outrage and doing my best to stay away from Twitter to stay clear of any venomous comments directed towards my best friend and any homophobic, stereotypical bullshit directed towards the sports of Figure Skating and Gymnastics.

I have been unsuccessful and so I would like to make a shortlist of announcements:

1) Most, but certainly not all, of the gymnasts I have met are straight men. Yes, many of them are straight men who have taken ballet classes. They’re also straight men who can support their body weight on rings in impossibly difficult positions, typically for at least sixty seconds, or on pommel, while kicking up into handstands and drifting to and from across a beam barely more than one foot wide. But why do I even have to say that? What assumptions do you have about ballet that make it unacceptable for a man to pursue? Why do I have to justify the masculinity of gymnastics by citing the sheer physical impossibility of its feats, as though our women don’t develop the same incredible amount of strength, though perhaps their young bodies, sparkly leotards, and flawless makeup encourage us to all forget … My point is: what is it about you that makes you graft these things onto a sport that has existed since ancient Greece (where it was taught to soldiers) and has been in the summer games since the beginning (other trivia: the most successful athlete in the 1896 games was a German gymnast _and_ wrestler named Carl Schuhmann, so take your preconceived notions of masculinity and put them someplace far away and dark)

2) Please stop using the word gay to describe my best friend. I am gay. *He* happens to be in a monogamous relationship with a man. There is an important difference. Please also stop using the word gay to describe his boyfriend, who has been in a series of incredibly well-documented relationships outside of this one, and whose past lovers you are insulting by implying their time together was some sort of elaborately crafted cover, and never in any way remotely romantic. While you’re at it, cut it out with the fucking slurs. I’ve known for a long time now that parts of the internet are places where people with small hearts and narrow minds go to make themselves feel bigger and stronger than good people who’ve done nothing to deserve their vitriol, but let me tell you this: I have never had the privilege of seeing two people care about each other in this way, and you’re going to miss the mark. Give up now.

3) There is no right way to come out of the closet. The end drop mic goodbye.

Phichit Chulanont, President, Campus Pride, University of Michigan  
_yuri-plisetsky, christophe-gc, mari-chan, madonna-yuko, and 841 others like this._  
> christophe-gc preach it queen  
> christophe-gc can I share this  
> phichit+chu of course  
> Jjleroy!15 me too. #phichit-style

 

 **christophe-gc** I am for @v-nikiforov; always have been, always will be  
_yuri-plisetsky, v-nikiforov, phichit+chu and 808 others like this._

 

 **Jjleroy!15** @phichit+chu has some important announcements to make about the sport of gymnastics #phichit-style you can disagree with him but disrespect him, or @katsuki-don, or @v-nikiforov, and know this: I don’t want you as my fan  
_yuri-plisetsky, phichit+chu, christophe-gc, and 1029 others like this._  
> yuri-plisetsky this is the first time I’ve ever liked you, JJ  
> christophe-gc aw he’s always been alright once you see past that sheen of pure bro

 

 **lovelifeleo** speaking as a devout Catholic, I’ve never been so disappointed in people who profess to be Christian as I am today  
_+guanghongji+, yuri-plisetsky, christophe-gc, and 82 others like this._

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** reminder: 2 junior championships, 10 russian championships, 8 european championships, 6 grand prix titles, 3 olympics and two gold medals is all you deserve to know about the king of skating @v-nikiforov  
_v-nikiforov, christophe-gc, otabek-altin and 163 others like this._

 

 **singsingswing** @katsuki-don is still the best gymnast in all of japan and that’s all I have to say about that #hesthebest  
_phichit+chu, christophe-gc, lovelifeleo, and 87 others like this._

 

 **v-nikiforov** [image post, handwritten in both Russian and English]

My agent called me late in the day yesterday to inform me that a video published on the internet yesterday would shortly be making the most personal aspects of my private life public knowledge for the whole world. In order to preserve my privacy and to protect the interests of the people I care about, I will be dropping out of the remainder of the Grand Prix series this year and taking a brief sabbatical from competitive figure skating while I make adjustments to my training plans and my media schedule.

I’ve spoken to the young woman who took the video and have no hard feelings about the mistake she made yesterday to publish a video taken without my consent.

In some respects I’m glad for it. I have loved this man for quite some time now, and will no longer be pretending otherwise.  
_katsuki-don, christophe-gc, phichit+chu, yuri-plisetsky, and 1523 others like this._

 

 **katsuki-don** [image post, handwritten in English and Japanese]

i have nothing to say that hasn’t been said already.

i take that back  
i love @v-nikiforov with all of my heart  
i’ve never loved anyone before  
not once  
and he made it as easy as breathing  
for the past two years he has taught me how to wrestle with my anxiety  
how to see myself differently  
how to be a better gymnast  
and a better person  
i regret what happened yesterday  
but i would do everything again  
in the same way  
in a heartbeat

 _v-nikiforov, lovelifeleo, christophe-gc, yuri-plisetsky, phichit+chu, mari-chan, madonna-yuuko, and 567 others like this._  
> yuri-plisetsky you’re alright, pork cutlet  
> christophe-gc so good, so so good  
> seung-gillee . . . so was this it? what you found . . . ?  
> phichit+chu we’re here for you yuuri  
> mari-chan hang in there!  
> nishigori-kun forget all these homophobes, man, what matters is you’re happy  
> lovelifeleo i am sharing this  
> Jjleroy!15 #YUURI-STYLE looking forward to our next meet man

 

 **lovelifeleo** OH CAPTAIN MY CAPTAIN  
_phichit+chu, ciaociaocialdini, katsuki-don, christophe-gc, and 419 others like this._  
> lovelifeleo the #wolverines will be following this brave and beautiful soul to the ends of the earth this year  
> lovelifeleo look out world

 

 

\- - -

 

_December 25, 2014_

Geneva, Switzerland

In the end, they’d decided not to spend Christmas in Hasetsu (the Japanese press had been as curious as the Russian media) or in St. Petersburg, or even in Moscow, where Viktor had spent his past two Christmases, brought into Yuri Plisetsky’s tiny family circle because he’d never had one of his own. Viktor made up for it with a phone call to Moscow, but afterwards he admitted that in some ways he wished they’d chanced the public in Hasetsu.

_Your family has always welcomed me with open arms, Yuuri. I’ve never gotten to experience that at home._

Instead they were in Geneva with Christophe, and Christophe’s cat, and Christophe’s hilarious boyfriend, Etienne. The two of them maintained what Yuuri was certain was the most colorful and outrageous Christmas tree he’d ever seen, proper compliment to an equally colorful and outrageous lifestyle, and when they’d dragged Viktor and Yuuri out the day before Christmas to go last-minute shopping, he’d been unable to resist, to insist on staying in, where cameras and reporters tended to follow. Very few of those had questions about gymnastics, or the progress Michigan was currently making in their season, or Phichit’s newly invented vault. _The Chulanont._ It was outrageously difficult, and he only landed it a fraction of the times in practice, and Ciao Ciao had banned him from it at meets, but someday, someday soon, Phichit Chulanont was going to land that move at an international competition, and so carve his name into the legends, and the flag of Thailand with it.

No: these questions tended to be invasive and personal, and he still bristled at the audacity of them.

Viktor had lost three sponsors, and done it smiling his heart-shaped smile, adopted a new practice regimen in Geneva, resumed ballet lessons, had done nothing but wish other skaters well in his absence. _Was this retirement for Viktor Nikiforov?_

“No,” he’d answered, taking a rare interview on Russian television, albeit tersely, with hardly a smile at all, and Katsuki Yuuri had exhaled a sigh of relief he hadn’t known he was holding. “Just some time off. We’ll see what comes next year.”

What had been nice was walking through the Christmas markets hand in hand with Viktor, like they were finally two ordinary people. In Geneva, Christophe and Etienne were a known quantity; not an unusual sight. Nobody batted an eye at the second couple walking behind the gymnast and the swimmer. Part way through the evening, though, inspiration had struck Katsuki Yuuri. There had been something he’d _needed_ to do, and he’d sent Viktor on ahead with Christophe and his boyfriend for coffee, promising to meet them soon.

Now, it was the day after all of that, long after they’d finished exchanging gifts, and he stood with Viktor out on the small balcony Christophe’s flat featured, overlooking a square courtyard in the center of the building, with the weight of a small box burning a whole in his pocket, and a glass of champagne to finish off. Yuuri had needed that, the champagne. Liquid courage was an American joke, but the Americans weren’t exactly wrong. “I have one more present for you,” he admitted, setting his glass down empty and turning slowly within the loose circle of Viktor’s arms.

“Oh?” Viktor smiled softly, adjusting the ridiculous scarf Christophe had gotten him, so flamboyant that Viktor would absolutely never wear it out of the house, so that he could loop it over Yuuri’s shoulders as well. “One last surprise?”

“Mmn,” Yuuri replied, certain that his face twinkled as red as any of the ornaments on Christophe and Etienne’s Christmas tree. He pressed the box into Viktor’s open hands, then, and waited until it was open to try to explain himself:

“You’ve done so much for me, Viktor, and I just — I’ve been trying to think of something, some way to tell you what you mean to me, and —“  
  
"It's almost like a marriage proposal," Viktor murmured, looking at the pair of rings now resting in his open palm. Usually marriage proposals had just the one ring, though, and --

"That's exactly what it is, Vitya."

"Oh." He laughed, then, not  _at_ Yuuri but  _with him, for him,_ always. "You probably want an answer then, mm?"

_"Vitya —"_

"Shh. The answer is yes."  _The answer was always going to be yes._

 

\- - -

 

“What’s with the rings?”

Viktor smiled his heart-shaped smile, perfectly happy and perfectly merciless. Christophe's eyes narrowed in response, waiting to see what challenge Viktor Nikiforov. Viktor who hid the most cunning competitor Christophe had ever met behind that angelic grin. “We’re getting married,” he said, eyes twinkling, which was straight up _dangerous,_ “right after Yuuri beats you in Vancouver.”

“That’s great, congratulat — wait, hey!”

 

 

\- - -

 

**[Group Texts,Yuuri/Viktor/Phichit]**

 

_March 5, 2015_

**Phichit:** Last chance to back out  
**Phichit:** it’d be the most awkward introduction ever  
**Phichit:** but I promise I could handle it with grace and charm  
**Yuuri:** … Viktor?  
**Viktor:** We said we’d do it  
**Viktor:** And we will

 

\- - -

 

_March 6, 2015_

Angell Hall Auditorium, University of Michigan

Phichit Chulanont adjusted his tie and then walked calmly out onto the lecture stage, tapping the microphone there with a slight smile. “Welcome, everyone, to tonight’s special meeting of Campus Pride. Looks like we’ve got a full house tonight, which I’m really excited about, but also …” Here he grinned, and it was somehow still all brightness and bounce, the same boyish charm Phichit had walked into Michigan with four years before, “… a little bit offended. I mean guys, come on, we’ve been doing this weekly for ages now and _now_ you’re making me get a bigger meeting room?” Rewarded by brief laughter, he looked over his shoulder at the two chairs behind him on stage. “It’s okay, though. I get it. Nobody’s here tonight to listen to me talk. I’m not even here tonight to listen to me talk. As you all know, we have two very special guests here tonight who’ve agreed to come and do an open talk with all of us. I’m a pretty lucky guy. I get to travel the world competing in the sport that I love. If I’m really fortunate, I’ll compete in my second Olympics a little over a year from now. I get to be the President of this club. But I think it might be the honor of my short, sweet life to call Viktor Nikiforov and our very own Katsuki Yuuri up onto stage with me tonight. Your programs have short bios of them both, so I’ll only say that Mr. Nikiforov is one of the most celebrated Olympians, and certainly one of the most celebrated Russian athletes, of all time; I’ll remind you that Yuuri Katsuki is my Captain, on the Wolverine Men’s gymnastics squad, and he’ll hate me for saying this, but he’s the best damn tumbler in all of men’s gymnastics today. He is also my best friend. As a reminder, our guests tonight have requested that this session not be recorded or broadcasted, so please turn off your cell phones — Viktor, Yuuri, please come out and join us.”

Yuuri, standing in the wings of the auditorium, was only half-listening to any of Phichit’s introduction: instead, he listened to the pounding _thump-thump-thump_ of his heartbeat, and when it came time to stride forward, and to take his place in one of the two chairs set up for himself and Viktor, he hesitated. It was Viktor who leaned over to squeeze his arm, briefly, and Viktor who strolled out first.

Because there was no uncertainty Yuuri Katsuki was willing to let Viktor Nikiforov face down alone, now, he followed.

“Gentlemen, thank you.” Phichit’s smile exuded warmth. “First, I just want to say how much I appreciate that you’re willing to come and talk about this topic in particular. I know how frustrating it has been to try to stay focused on your careers at a time when it seems like the press is more interested in generating clicks on your personal lives. But I think this is really important, actually. Just in case anyone in the audience is unaware, can one of you maybe address what happened back in October?”

“I’ll do that,” Viktor murmured, casting a sidelong glance at Yuuri. “In International Figure Skating, there is a series of competitions we refer to as the Grand Prix, and they lead up to a Grand Prix finals, which is considered the second most important contest outside of World Championships. Skaters are assigned to different events to determine who qualifies at finals, and this year I was assigned to Skate Canada at the end of October. Yuuri and I were seen together at a public figure skating rink afterwards, and a fan of mine, unwittingly, took a video of us together. Because of the … let’s call it noise, yes? Noise surrounding alt athletes, Yuuri and I have been, up until now, circumspect about revealing the nature of our relationship to the public. At the end of this video, I’m seen kissing him on the mouth —“

“— he’s making it sound like I was an unwilling party —“ Yuuri mumbled, blushing furiously, and Viktor laughed.

“Anyway, the video went viral, and while the original poster did take it offline, and has apologized, what’s done is done …”

Phichit tilted his head slightly to the left. “The following day you both made posts which also went viral, and they both came out relatively quickly after the event. I feel like there was a moment where maybe the whole thing could’ve just been swept under the rug, so …”

“I tried to tell him to do that,” Yuuri chimed in, and his lips twitched as he looked over at Viktor: “He’s very stubborn. He refused.”

Viktor smiled, and then glanced up at the audience, lifting both his eyebrows: “Our friends in the audience here, they’re University of Michigan students mostly, yes?” An answering set of whoops and whistles answered the rhetorical question, and Viktor grinned, unapologetic. “Would any of _you_ sweep a Wolverine Captain — how did you say — under the rug?”

Yuuri facepalmed, but he was smiling, nonetheless: “Vitya …”

“But there were consequences, right?”

“Naturally.” Viktor murmured an affirmative, schooling his expression into something more serious, and Yuuri picked up his microphone, deciding to expand on the figure skater’s answer:

“Viktor lost several sponsorship and advertising contracts, if that’s what you mean, practically overnight. Things are a little bit different for me, because of NCAA rules, it’s not appropriate for me to be doing that kind of work. What I’ve noticed instead is the kinds of publications that want to interview me back home have changed …”

“Same here,” murmured Viktor. “My agent and I have decided for the time being to do press releases instead of pressers. It’s a sad truth but it allows me to retain some element of control over the narrative. There is a law in Russia that suggests that presenting anything other than a normal family relationship to children is dangerous, and the language of it is very broad, so I think I’ve become … I’m a riskier story, now, for most outlets. It was perfectly legal to sell stories about my private life when I was dating a ballerina, but now, now it’s a gamble, there could be fines and a penalty …” He paused, contemplative. “I’ve changed rinks, too, which is challenging from a coaching standpoint, but I really don’t want to be a distraction for the rest of the club. I could go back to St. Petersburg and I’d be physically safe, but it’s a little better to stay in Geneva, right now, where I’m more … anonymous, shall we say?”

“We don’t have anything like that in Japan, but I definitely think I drifted out of the mainstream almost immediately, just judging by my emails alone …”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri admitted, angling his body a little bit so that he could focus more on a singular conversation with Phichit, and not look too long at the rows of faces sitting in the audience. “On the one hand I guess I’m supposed to think it’s a little bit sad, because there’s definitely a financial consequence when suddenly your face isn’t going to be in a magazine next to a Toyota ad for a family’s SUV. That’s definitely the activist view of it, right? Closer to how you feel, Phichit, I think, that it’s unjust. But on the other …” He shrugged. “I’ve been reading those papers my whole life and if I could picture myself as a Japanese businessman in a suit and tie working for the same kuretsu my entire life I wouldn’t be a gymnast, would I, and so maybe I was never meant to be in them in the first place.” A few cheers and claps sounded, and Yuuri glanced up sharply, surprised by the sudden burst of affirmation.

Except he really ought to have known better. He’d been accompanying Phichit to these meetings for years; had seen the way the community Phichit wanted to lead could rally.

“I’d like for there to be both,” Phichit said, taking a moment to acknowledge his own views. “I’d like for Toyota to feel like they can sell cars to gay people, too. Or to single moms. Or people of color.” There was mixed applause for this from the crowd. “You have said you’re not a Gay Captain. But you are in a homosexual relationship with a man. This is something you and I have talked about a lot, and I’d like to ask you both, in terms of the process you’ve each gone through in assigning yourselves a sexual identity. Yuuri, why _aren’t_ you a Gay Captain?”

“Because I’m just not. I’ve spent my whole life watching people — people like my parents, for instance, they find someone, they get married, they have kids. Then suddenly all my friends, all they wanted was to be in these relationships, and I just never cared, was never interested. I tried because it felt like the thing I was supposed to do, but I was the worst boyfriend, in high school, just an anxious, uninterested mess …”

“Would you have described yourself as asexual then? Just not interested in that way?”

“Well, maybe. If I’d never met Viktor, and I kept hanging out with you and all your letters —“ nervous laughter sounded, and Yuuri held up his hands to explain: “We don’t have all these letters and concepts in Japan, not really. We have L, and G, and B, and T even, but there’s so many more … _varieties_ … being explored here in the West. Lots of different ways to be a person. I mean, Phichit: you’re here as a gay gymnast, you’re the President of this whole club, you’ve had yourself figured out in that way for a very long time. And it’s just not as clear for me as it seems to be for you. I’m not sure it ever will be. … Anyway, I feel like saying I was gay would be like saying I’ve been attracted to men for my whole life, or that I find men, generally, attractive; and that’s not really true, and it’s dishonest because somewhere out there I’m quite confident there is a Gay NCAA Captain, and that person ought to be the one who talks about it, because somewhere else there’s a kid on a soccer team somewhere having a hard time coping with the feelings he has for his goalie, or whatever …” Yuuri’s words came to an abrupt halt as he realized just how much he’d been speaking, and he stopped, and looked sidelong at Viktor.

Viktor who was still looking at him as though he was the center of a one-in-the-kind universe, the sun he was perfectly content to spin around in orbit. “I’m attracted to all kinds of people,” Viktor said, with a shrug. “I always have been. There are so many things to like about people.” Then he smirked a little bit, and winked. “You, for instance, Phichit: you have an adorable smile, and a seemingly unending reserve of optimism, and someday someone is going to want to figure out what it is about you that gives you either of those things …”

Was Phichit Chulanont _blushing?_ Yuuri chuckled dryly in spite of himself, watching Phichit smile and nod and wave off the compliment. “Let’s shift gears for a little bit, because I want to address something else that I think was pretty personally upsetting for a while. Can you talk about the online reaction?”

“Do we have to?” Yuuri groaned, though he knew the question had been coming.

“It was pretty terrible,” Viktor admitted. “Twitter, I think, was the worst. A friend of mine made me give him the password to my account so he could change it, and locked me out for a while. When people couldn’t come after me they started coming after my friends …”

“… My family, my sister …”

“I’ve been mentoring a gymnast in Moscow for a few years as part of a program Christophe Giacometti runs to pair up young athletes with an Olympic mentor, and people started trying to get into it with him on instagram.” Viktor sighed, raked his fingers through his hair, and then he smirked dryly: “To their detriment, really. Yuri Plisetsky might not be a gold medal gymnast yet but he’s definitely a world champion of talking back …”

“He got his own tumblr dedicated to him,” Phichit remembered, with a slight chuckle: “fyeahyurotchkasass, for those curious. It’s a great read.”

“A lot of other gymnasts and skaters announced their support for us,” Yuuri murmured politely, “not just my teammates here, even, but people all over the place. People I used to assume disliked me just because we had to compete against each other and competition isn’t something everyone gets to walk away from coming out on top … So that was really nice. That was the upside of it, I guess, in the middle of all these terrible things being said…”

Yuuri, when you came back to Ann Arbor, we had a meet right afterwards, what was that like?”

“Honestly I was super worried it’d be a big distraction to the team. ESPN did a whole thing about how I was the first gay captain in the whole NCAA which isn’t even true, and it’s all anybody wanted to talk to me about … it was like a few years back, really, where suddenly nothing was about us as a team, but just about the fact that I’m Japanese and you’re Thai —“

“That was equally ridiculous,” said Phichit, breaking character for a moment with a frown that threatened to drift into a pout.

“I mean, at least that — I can understand it a little bit. I read a lot about it afterwards, and there’s been some similar feelings in long-distance running, about recruiting from other countries. But I think America needs to decide what it wants to be. If it doesn’t want multi-cultural athletes, it will need to also stop accepting multi-cultural students. There are countries that operate that way. I just don’t think many other places in the world admire them for it. Anyway — I just stopped taking interviews entirely, and tried to stay out of the way, but I know all of you guys were asked about it and somehow —“

“Somehow we still won.”

“We did. And it still doesn’t make any sense to me, that we managed that. Because —“

“His coach,” Viktor chimed in, proudly, and looked at Phichit, “ _your_ coach, Coach Cialdini says that Yuuri has a supernatural ability to inspire loyalty in the people around him. That’s how you managed it. He just won’t take any credit.”

“Vitya …” A mutter of warning. Viktor Nikiforov was the _picture of innocence._

“Yes?” He asked, and bat his eyelashes. _Yes dear? Yes darling? Yes love-of-my-life?_

Phichit laughed, and as he stood up so did several other members of the club, each of them holding spare microphones. “We’re going to open it up to the floor for follow-up questions, if there are any.”

First up was a young woman with blue streaks in her hair. “I’m sorry, I just. I know it’s probably rude but I’ve been dying to know ever since I came in here — You’re both wearing rings. Are you married?”

Viktor’s heart-shaped smile came out in full force. “We’re engaged,” he confirmed, ignoring the murmur that rose up from the audience.

“Oh my god have you set a date yet?”

“I told Christophe Giacometti he could be my best man after Yuuri beats him in Vancouver,” Viktor hummed. Yuuri dropped his face into his hands once again, shaking with both laughter and sheer mortification. Viktor clapped him on the back, mock-encouraging. “I think that still sounds pretty reasonable, don’t you, Yuuri?”

“Whatever you say …”

“Yeah, I’ve got one question.” A young man had come up to ask next. “What’s it like to be a total fucking faggot?”

A chorus of boos rose up, supported by rising murmurs of outrage. Yuuri froze, and Phichit started to intervene:

“Get him out of he—“

“No, it’s okay.” Viktor squeezed Yuuri’s shoulder briefly, and walked up to the front edge of the stage. “I don’t understand your question,” he said. “It’s probably a translation issue. Can you define faggot, please?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Gay. Flaming. A shit-packing queer.”

Viktor stepped down from the stage, and up into the audience, until he stood in front of him. “Again,” he said, calmly, and firmly, as the audience settled down to such stillness that perhaps even a pin could have dropped. “I didn’t hear you the first two times.”

“You heard me just fucking fine.”

“What’s your name?”

“Chad.” A chorus of _fuck you, Chad!_ ’s sounded from the back of the room and Viktor held up his hand.

“Chad, I wish I could say it was nice to meet you. My name is Viktor Nikiforov. Most mornings, I wake up at 4 A.M. in Geneva, and then I ride a bicycle for two miles to my rink so I can get a few hours of practice on clean ice, before business hours. I move around at anywhere from ten to twenty miles an hour on a blade that’s a few millimeters sharp and maybe twice that wide… I take backwards leaps at that speed, rotate 1440 degrees in the air, land on one foot, do it again for 1080 degrees and then I glide away. A while ago a mathematician took a hard look at the spins of professional figure skaters and came up with numbers in the range of 200 - 400 revolutions _per minute_ on that same contact area. In the history of my sport, there is no other competitor who has won as many championships as I have: nearly thirty of them, total, and that’s not counting individual events. So I’m going to ask you again: can you define faggot, please?”

Chad crossed his arms, glaring in silence.

“Chad, as a professional competitor, I have to warn you that you’re pretty outmatched here.” Viktor put a heavy hand on his shoulder and sat him back down. Then he turned, unconcerned, and began to walk back towards the stage. “Why did I just tell Chad all about the physics of figure skating?” Viktor asked an audience that had gone perfectly still, as captivated and silent as they were at the start of his skating routines, holding their breath for what Viktor Nikiforov _might do next_. “Because I think what Chad was really trying to do was to effeminize Yuuri and I, and then diminish our respective sports by comparison … Which, by the way, my mother was — is, she _is_ — an amazingly talented woman, full of strength and beauty, and so the very idea that being like a woman is weakness offends me in every possible way … Chad, though. Back to Chad, since he wanted to draw this attention onto himself and now he’s going to get it. Chad isn’t angry that Yuuri and I aren’t seeing women. Chad is angry that we have the audacity to be stand-out athletes while we’re doing it. You have to realize how frightening that is for someone like Chad. For thousands of years, people like him have gotten great solace from the fact that the rulers of the earth look like the way he does. He might not be number one, but he’s like the people who are, and that’s good enough.”

Viktor tossed his hair back, moving his seat closer to Yuuri’s. Phichit was staring at him in a sort of stunned silence, and Yuuri, well:

Yuuri’s expression, awash in admiration and shock, was reward enough. _Surprise,_ Viktor thought; amused.

“And now here he is, talking to a pansexual who accomplishes more before breakfast than he gets done in his whole damn day. Chad, I hope this is your wakeup call. Next time an Olympic champion asks you a direct question, you better have the strength of conviction to answer it, and swiftly.”

He leaned over, and kissed Yuuri’s temple, and the whole auditorium erupted into a roar of applause.

Yuuri turned to look at Phichit with begging eyes that would’ve put Vicchan to shame. _Get us out of here, please._

 

\- - -

 

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **phichit+chu** i just started fyeahvityaburns at tumblr (╬ Ò ‸ Ó) #campuspride #ohmygod #canteven #bestnightofmylife #noreally #fuckyouchad #chaaaaad  
_lovelifeleo, yuri-plisetsky, christophe-gc, and 201 others like this._

 

_\- - -_

 

_March 25, 2015_

 

**[espn.com, NCAA Men’s Gymnastics Ratings]**

 

1 Oklahoma  
2 Michigan  
3 Stanford  
4 Minnesota  
5 Ohio State  
6 Penn State  
7 Air Force  
8 Illinois  
9 Nebraska  
10 California

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

_April 10, 2015_

 

 **phichit+chu** BERKELEY I LOVE YOU ALREADY (ﾉ^∇^)ﾉﾟ #ncaa-championships #goblue #wolverines  
_lovelifeleo, yuri-plisetsky, christophe-gc, and 200 others like this._

 

 **katsuki-don** my last meet as a #wolverine .___.  
_v-nikiforov, ciaociaocialdini, mari-chan, madonna-yuuko, and 105 others like this._  
> yuri-plisetsky if you don’t win  
> yuri-plisetsky i am going to plant my shoe in the middle of your back  
> yuri-plisetsky the next time we see each other  
> v-nikiforov i LIKED that coat, yurotchka  
> yuri-plisetsky don’t you still have it?  
> v-nikiforov that’s besides the point  
> v-nikiforov i had to get it dry cleaned  
> lovelifeleo viktor in america we call those #firstworldproblems  
> v-nikiforov that’s extra funny coming from an american  
> phichit+chu #fyeahvityaburns

 

\- - -

 

**[ESPN.com coverage, live stream]**

“Jim, we’re here at the NCAA men’s championships and this meet is really heating up between rivals Oklahoma and Michigan as the teams work to complete their rotations.”

“I hear there’s some bad blood between those teams, Bob?”

“It’s true that this is a relatively recent rivalry, stemming from a comment made two years back when the Sooners’ head coach singled out two of Michigan’s gymnasts in his remarks after the 2013 championships: Yuuri Katsuki, who is now the Wolverines’ Captain, anchoring their All-Around rotation, and Phichit Chulanont, both of whom are international students, from Japan and Thailand respectively. Wolverines coach Celestino Cialdini took umbrage at the comment, and his post-meet interview went viral.”

“I hear there’s also been some personal controversies this year?”

“Sure, Jim. Captain Yuuri Katsuki is engaged to Russian Olympian Viktor Nikiforov —“

“ _The_ Viktor Nikiforov?”

“The one and only. Their relationship went public back in October when a fan accidentally published video of the two of them on a date at a skating rink. Chulanont, who is also the President of Michigan’s Campus Pride organization, and Katsuki have both argued strongly that the media focus leading up into this event should be firmly on gymnastics, but some folks have speculated that all of the extra coverage directed towards the Michigan team may have renewed the rivalry between these two squads, particularly as Oklahoma’s come into this meet as a narrow favorite to win. Ah, Jim, we need to cut over to the Vault. Chulanont’s just stepping up to take the first of his two vaults now …”

“There’s been rumors that he’s developing a new signature vault, this past year. Do you think he’ll reveal it at Nationals?”

“We asked about that beforehand and were told it was pretty unlikely. He’s expected to perform a Tsukahara Double Pike here. Here we go — “

“Amazing, he just exploded off the vault table, pretty big step near the end there but that should put up big marks.”

“How many points do you think he’s looking at here, Jim?”

“Well thanks to his difficulty score it’ll be at least a 15. We’ll have to see what the judges decide after they look at the video in terms of deductions. That puts up a 15.500 which is more than enough to propel Phichit Chulanont into first place, Bob, just terrific —“

“And look at those Michigan fans out their in the crowd! Can we cut over to them?”

_[Camera pans; centers in on twenty plus students in blue and yellow, wearing rainbow scarves and waving the flag of Thailand. The video feed cuts back to Chulanont.]_

“Look at that, Jim. I think he’s tearing up, he’s just blown them all a kiss from the floor —“

“Still two more rotations to go but this contest is definitely heating up, Bob. Yuuri Katsuki unexpectedly grabbed first place on parallel bars earlier this afternoon, and he’s finishing on his strongest event.”

“That’s right, Jim. It’s tough to ascertain his world rankings, but Yuuri Katsuki took the title in the Asian Games for floor, and there’s plenty of experts who believe he might be the best tumbler on earth, right now.”

“He’s been prone to some nerves, in previous contests, and he’s got to get his group through Pommel Horse first. We’ll be back after this.”

 

\- - -

 

“We’re back with our last rotation of the NCAA men’s artistic gymnastics finals and boy has this one been a nailbiter. There are sixteen teams competing in the finals but today’s events have really made this a contest between two very different squads — the University of Oklahoma and the University of Michigan, who have been swapping places between first and second all day long.”

“We’ve had some really impressive performances coming out of the Michigan squad today, Bob. The team is very likely to pass their own record for a new personal best. Let’s look back at a few of the highlights, starting with their one-two finish on Parallel Bars. Yuuri Katsuki put up a new personal best on that apparatus, passing over his own teammate, Leo de la Iglesia, who also scored well over their rivals from the Oklahoma Sooners. And let’s not forget Phichit Chulanont’s amazing pair of vaults, which have added to this team’s impressive score.”

“Oklahoma really caught up to them on Rings and High Bar, though. Rings is really starting to become a specialist event, and though Captain Katsuki of the Wolverines did reasonably well, he just missed the podium. And they really don’t have a flyer like Oklahoma’s No. 1 on rings, who took the event title as expected. Which brings us to where we are now: Captain Yuuri Katsuki is on Floor. The Michigan Wolverines are in second place, and he’ll need to score at least a 15.250 to propel them ahead of Oklahoma into first place…”

“He’s more than capable of it. This is one of the most intricate floor routines we’re going to see all day, Bob.”

“What do you think he’s thinking about, Jim?”

“I had a chance to catch up with Katsuki before today’s contest and he mentioned that he’d gotten good advice from his fiancee, actually —“

“I suppose Nikiforov must know a thing or two about winning. What’d he have to say about it?”

“He said _show me the gymnastics you can honestly say that you like the best. That’s the only shortcut I know to winning a gold medal.”_

“Well, we’re about to find out whether or not that’s true. Katsuki’s fiancee and his sister are in the audience now. And here comes his first pass —“

 

\- - -

 

“He’s done it!”

_[camera pans to the Michigan fans; in the middle, Viktor Nikiforov is giving Mari Katsuki a giant hug, lifting her completely off of the floor, and this time, everyone is waving the flag of Japan. Yuuri is still standing on the floor, staring up at them, tears in his eyes and then there’s a surge of gymnasts in navy blue and gold rushing up to join him on the floor, and Phichit Chulanont and Leo de la Iglesia unceremoniously hoisting him up on their shoulders]_

“The University of Oklahoma was pretty sure a 447.250 would be more than enough to secure them another national championship, and on any other night, maybe — against any team but Coach Celestino Cialdini’s Wolverines — that might have been enough.”

“Not tonight, Jim. Celestino Cialdini and his trio of Olympians from three different countries came into this arena tonight with a different idea. Tonight, Leo de la Iglesia, Phichit Chulanont, and Yuuri Katsuki have written themselves into the history books with a matchup that was truly one for the ages!”

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

**singsingswing** AAAAH HERE IN HASETSU THE CROWD’S GONE WILD #YU-TOPIA #LIVESTREAM #WHATTIMEISITANYWAY  
_madonna-yuuko, mari-chan, nishigori-kun, and 13 others like this._

 

 **phichit+chu** I am going to find every single person who brought the flag of my country and those scarves into tonight’s meet, and I’m going to give each of you a big, sloppy kiss ٩(♡ε♡ )۶ #goblue #wolverines #campus-pride #ncaa-championships  
_lovelifeleo, katsuki-don, +guanghongji+ and 814 others like this.  
_ > Jjleroy!15 #PHICHIT-STYLE well done

 

 **katsuki-don** thank you, Coach Celestino; thank you, Michigan; thank you to the people who’ve believed in me all these years before I could believe in myself there is literally no better way to walk away from this place and this family who’ve taught me so many things #goblue #michigan #wolverines #ncaa-championships  
_v-nikiforov, Jjleroy!15, yuri-plisetsky, lovelifeleo, phichit+chu and 957 others like this._  
> singsingswing ALL-AROUND WINNER, FLOOR WINNER, TEAM WINNER YUURI YOU ARE THE BEST  
> yuri-plisetsky oh, caps lock is cool now? ok  
> yuri-plisetsky now i know the score to beat in vancouver  
> christophe-gc I think you mean *I* know the score to beat in Vancouver. Congratulations, Yuuri!  
> Jjleroy!15 he definitely means *I* know the score to beat in Vancouver. Yuuri you were all #jj-style tonight bro, on fire!  
> yuri-plisetsky i will set the yuri's angels on you, jj  
> Jjleroy!15 yuri's angels?  
> phichit+chu ... he has tumblr fans  
> otabek-altin they're a little rabid  
> otabek-altin nice job today, katsuki.

 

 **lovelifeleo** BORN TO MAKE HISTORY #goblue #wolverines #ncaa-championships  
_katsuki-don, +guanghongji+, phichit+chu and 482 others like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the author makes herself cry in her car upon figuring how to write the last part of this chapter…
> 
> I check out *The Discourse* on tumblr from time to time as a casual observer of fandom (it is a dangerous place, tumblr) and saw a couple of posts while working on this over the weekend that I thought merited addressing. Both of them had to do with LGBTQ+ culture in Japan and in Russia, including one plea from a Russian fan to stop presenting Russia as a place that was super unsafe for gay people, especially in a place like St. Petersburg, which was characterized by that individual as a fairly accepting place.
> 
> I wanted to try to leave some space for those perspectives. 
> 
> Still, the legal rights of the LGBTQ+ community in both of these places troubles me, and so I wanted to try to strike the right balance in terms of the consequences Viktor and Yuuri are facing and how they think about and perceive them as citizens. I hope I’ve managed to do that in regards to my reflections here about the media (I originally considered having Viktor’s house vandalized, and decided not to go that route after doing that reading over the weekend) and the way that these decisions have typically been costly for most athletes (see also: the Tinder / Daily Beast / Sochi controversy). 
> 
> In terms of some of the things I draw on when trying to write about these international attitudes, I think the work Ellen Page does reporting for Viceland via the show Gaycation is crucial and beautiful and if that sort of thing is important to you, watch it with tissues on hand.


	5. The Vancouver 2016 Olympics: Born to Make History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 2015: Another skater wins the ISU world championships in Viktor’s absence.  
> May 2015: Yuuri and Phichit graduate from Michigan. Phichit returns to Thailand. Viktor gets bad news.  
> October 2015: The World Gymnastics Championships take place in Rio, and Viktor begins a slimmed-down contest schedule in his return to figure skating.  
> January 2016: Figure Skating European Championships.  
> March 2016: ISU World Figure Skating Championships  
> April 2016: Various championship trials for gymnasts / Olympians  
> July - August 2016: the Vancouver Olympics

_May 04, 2015_

“Mr. Nikiforov, I think you really ought to consider returning to St. Petersburg.”

“It’s that bad, huh?”

“We discussed this after the diagnosis. Eight years, maybe ten. She’s coming up on the end of six …”

“I understand.” Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose, looking out over Christophe’s courtyard for what he was beginning to understand would be one of the last times. Yuuri was graduating soon. They’d been trying to make plans, trying to decide how to arrange Yuuri’s competition schedule going into Vancouver and Viktor’s comeback to competitive skating.  
  
Now,  _this._

“I’ll make arrangements.”

 

\- - -

 

_May 09, 2015_

**[Viktor’s Email]**

**From:** svetlana.nikiforova@msu.ru  
**To:** awake.in.beauty@mail.ru  
**Subject:** Hello  
**Body:**

Viktor,

Hi.

I’ve wanted to reach out to you for a long time and I haven’t known how to do it and it’s time to stop dragging my feet. I just finished my first year at Lomonosov, but I’d like to think you knew that much, at least? I’m doing Psychology.

Papa hates it, of course.

Psychology’s a whole lot more practical than figure skating, I guess, but it’s nothing like law or policy or business, so I’m a constant disappointment. Maybe not just because I won’t make _his_ kind of money but also because I don’t think he really wants anyone to be thinking terribly hard about what sort of man he is, underneath the veneer of all that success. But I’m not Alexei, who always does what he wants, and I’m not our father either, so to hell with them both …

He never talks about you and I hate that too.

I read online that you’re engaged now and it seems absolutely fucking ridiculous to me that nobody from our whole family is allowed to tell you congratulations. I don’t have to follow his rules, right? I can be my own person. Like how you’re your own person. So anyway, congratulations. I should have asked how you were after Canada; I should have called and told you that the way you got treated after all that was bullshit. I should have told you that I’m glad you’ve found somebody you want to love for your whole life.

I know you probably think you don’t really have a father, or even want one, and I’d probably feel the same way … but I was thinking maybe if you wanted a half-sister sometime we could get coffee. At every wedding someone gives the bride away, right? You ought to have at least one Nikiforov.

I’m going to stay in Moscow. I know you come sometimes to see Plisetsky. If I don’t hear from you though, I understand why.

Svetlana

 

\- - -

 

_May 11, 2015_

“Yurotchka’s not here.” Yakov Feltsman was someone about whom it might well and truly said _you haven’t aged a day_ and not necessarily in the good way. The stoic Russian raised a brow at Viktor’s unannounced arrival, looking away from Georgi Popovich’s iron cross on rings. “He didn’t mention you were coming.”

“I’m not here to see Yuri,” Viktor murmured, and he gave a two-fingered salute towards the other gymnast, up on the rings apparatus. “I’ll wait until you’re done. Office open?” Yakov gave an affirmative grunt, and Viktor helped himself, draping his coat and scarf over the chair opposite the desk before settling in with his iPhone to listen through a playlist of possible free skate contenders. He carried a small bag, and from it took a notebook, and was relatively involved in the work of choreography when Yakov finally came in, a whole play-through later.

“You want to tell me what this is about, Viktor?”

“Mm.” Viktor pulled his headphones out of his ears, draping them over one shoulder, and tapped his pen against the notebook thoughtfully. “I came here to tell you that you want to invite Katsuki Yuuri to train here in Moscow.”

Yakov snorted. “That sounded suspiciously like a thing that _you_ want, Vitya.”

“Just because it’s a thing that I want doesn’t make it the wrong thing.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re coaching now.” Yakov’s face was as impassive as ever, still etched into a subtle, stoic frown. “Don’t you think you’re getting a little too old for this fairy tale nonsense?”

Viktor sat up a little bit, and leaned forward towards the desk, lacing his fingers together. “You’re not thinking this through.”

“Oh?” Yakov raised an eyebrow. “Let me tell you the problem with Katsuki, Viktor. The problem with Katsuki is that anyone who coaches him is going to play the _which Yuuri is going to show up today_ game. His NCAA showing was impressive, I admit it. Some would argue fueled entirely by his desire to please you.” Viktor’s blue eyes narrowed sharply, and Yakov drove the point home: “On stage in Vancouver, hearing the Olympic medley, even Cialdini won’t get NCAA Katsuki. It’ll be Tokyo all over again.” He waved a hand. “Plisetsky and Popovich are my focus.”

Viktor smiled, which was Yakov’s first indication that somehow he’d missed the mark. “I’m just curious,” he murmured idly. “How do you expect Plisetsky to win a gold in the All-Around if he doesn’t get better on Floor?”

Yakov shook his head, mimicked the question almost word for word. “I see. And how do you expect Katsuki to win a gold in the All-Around if he doesn’t get better on Horizontal Bar?”

“I know what Yuuri’s capable of.” Viktor’s smile was subtle, _dangerous._ Christophe had suggested him for a mentor for Plisetsky long before Yakov had ever been Yuri’s coach, but they weren’t as alike as Christophe thought; two entirely different types of prodigy. “Do you have the same confidence in Yuri, I wonder?”

“Dangerous game to play with your fiancee and the kid you treat like a brother.” For all of his rough edges, Yuri Plisetsky came at gymnastics with a kind of wild purity. Going undiscovered for so long had, perhaps, kept it from being ruined by a little too much experience. Viktor had grown up in sport, and he was refined grace and savage beauty. Worse: he knew precisely what he was capable of.

Viktor was silent, waiting behind the curtain of his silver hair, unphased. Yakov resisted the urge to glare back. “… Besides, he doesn’t speak Russian.”

“He does,” Viktor replied blithely. “And passably well.” _The Dying Swan,_ he realized, suddenly, thinking about his mother, the program. It was the ballet in which Nadezhda Orlova had once made her debut.

 

\- - -

 

_May 13, 2015_

**[Viktor’s Instagram; messages]**

 

 **katsuki-don  
** do you want to tell me why i just got a call from yakov feltsman

 **katsuki-don  
** asking me when i’m coming to train in Moscow

 

\- - -

 

He’d never heard Yuuri so _angry._ “Do you know how hard it was for me to move here in the first place? I’d never even _been_ to Michigan, and now I’m supposed to change coaches _again,_ Viktor? Three months before Worlds?”

Viktor. Not Vitya. For all of Yuuri’s fragility, his anxieties, his fears, there was still a nerve in him, something that burned white-hot when it was struck. Somehow Viktor had struck it. “You don’t want to consider it at all? Yakov is a genius with the horizontal bar …” _Look at Georgi. Look at Yurotchka._

“Yakov coaches the competition!” Yuuri shouted into the phone, exasperated. “Do you have any idea how _manipulative_ it was of you to even talk to him, like that? What happened to the plan where you left Geneva and came _here_ for a while? Did you even look into it?”

“Of course I looked into it.” Viktor muttered, tersely. “I looked into it and I’m going back to St. Petersburg.”

“St. Petersburg? Viktor, we didn’t —“

He didn’t want to _fight._ Not now. Not thousands of miles away over the phone, where it was impossible to step forward and knot himself around Katsuki Yuuri and beg him to promise that he was never going to disappear. “She’s dying, Yuuri. I went yesterday and she just — she sat in her chair, and said nothing the whole time, and I just put a Stravinsky record on and sat there hopelessly because never, not once, was there any indication that she knew me at all.” He sucked in a breath. “Every so often her hands would twitch and her mouth would move, like the door was going to open but every day there’s less and less likelihood that anyone’s going to be home and —“

“Oh, _Viktor_.” Just like that, all the fire was gone, and what remained was all of Yuuri’s softness and care. That was manipulation, too, and both of them knew it, but Viktor Nikiforov didn’t care, couldn’t; he was a mess and Katsuki Yuuri was too far away —

“Yuuri, I — don’t come, if you don’t —“ Years of speaking English for interviews were failing him now; all Viktor could do was switch to Russian and stumble, stumble, stumble.

“No.” There it was again, the flicker of the firm core that lived in the deepest parts of his lover. “I’ll be there. We’ll figure it out.”

 

\- - -

 

_June 26, 2015_

Katsuki Yuuri’s face at the St. Petersburg airport had been almost adorably grumpy, the look of a man who’d taken entirely too many planes, trains, and automobiles in the last 48 hours to even remotely be comfortable (and partly of his own accord, because Yuuri _hated_ the thought of Vicchan uncomfortable somewhere, stowed away, and so he’d insisted on a service dog registration, on getting the toy poodle under his seat or in his lap for both flights). Nonetheless it was the face Viktor had _wanted_ to see, and he didn’t think he was imagining the little ways in which it suddenly became easier to breathe, after Yuuri came through customs pushing a cart full of suitcases.

Viktor Nikiforov held himself together long enough to sweep Yuuri into a fierce hug at the airport, to drive them both back to his own apartment for what could only be a handful of days. Yakov was waiting, and so was the job Yuuri had insisted he get to support himself, teaching English part-time to local students, along with the flat they still needed to move him into. Svetlana had been an unexpected godsend in that respect. Viktor had no mind for the logistics of it all; that was something Yuuri had handled. Yuuri had been the one to call Feltsman back. The one to find the English school in Moscow. The one who’d gotten his Visa.

_Did you know they make people test for HIV?_

Viktor hadn’t known. He supposed he was meant to care, but what he’d wanted most was to let the sound of Yuuri’s voice wash over him, to soothe away a distress that had been growing, knitting itself into his chest like spreading cancer. Now, sitting on his own couch, watching Vicchan and Makkachin become acquainted with each other for the first time, Viktor began to laugh, but it was a fragile thing, unsteady.

Katsuki Yuuri, stronger than anyone knew, because kindness was power and grace, had gathered him then; had brushed his fingers over Viktor’s face and kissed him so softly and so perfectly that all of Viktor’s composure shattered.

Then it had been Viktor, falling back to the mattress, pulling Yuuri over him; Viktor who’d let himself go, awash in love.

Yuuri who’d crested over him like crashing waves, who’d kissed away tears, all promises of forever and beautiful, incoherent praise: _you taught me this, you did._ Yuuri, whose love alone was enough to start putting the universe back into its proper order, the only person on earth who could command Viktor Nikiforov’s breaking heart to _be whole, don’t you know you deserve to be whole_ and be obeyed.

 

_\- - -_

 

_June 29, 2015_

“So ... this is your room.”Svetlana Nikiforova; _friends call me Seven,_ Viktor’s _sister._

It wasn’t that they hadn’t spoken about her. Viktor had talked about their exchange of emails, meeting her in Moscow, in the Skype calls that always seemed to run long. His opinion had evolved, first from _my father’s daughter reached out,_ to _I’ve met them all before, a few times,_ to explaining who they both were: Alexei, the next-oldest, the son who did all the right things, by Viktor’s father’s definition, and Svetlana, the baby of the family. _He’s got his heir to the business now, he’s less interested in her._ Then, finally, the admission: _she thinks I need more family. That it’s not good to be all alone._

Of course, Viktor wasn’t alone; he had Yuuri. But that wasn’t quite what Svetlana had meant.

She was Yuuri’s new roommate. Viktor had insisted on driving them to Moscow, which she’d promptly declared perfectly ridiculous, what with Viktor’s car piled high with suitcases, and taking, for that matter, more than twice as long as the train that ran between their two cities. Viktor had smiled sidelong and glanced over at Yuuri with passing fondness. Russia was his home. To show Yuuri parts of it, even in the slowly rambling, passing countryside, that was to reveal more of himself.

“Are you sure he’s going to be okay with this?” Viktor had a bad habit of speaking in Russian when there was some undertone he was trying to shield Yuuri from, and Yuuri was building a habit of making himself join the conversation to pick it up.

“Your father?”

Seven, though; Seven evidently had a stubborn streak to match her triple-pierced ears and the one streak of blue she’d put into her sandy-brown hair. It had been harder to search for traces of Viktor in Svetlana’s face, when Yuuri’d so quickly seen the similarities in Nadezhda’s, but slowly little details came to: it was in the bone structure, more than anything else. Viktor’s eyes were pure blue, and Seven’s were a hazel that almost bordered on grey. Viktor’s hair was platinum-colored, shone angelic in the light, and Svetlana’s was the color of dark honey. He saw it in the similar slopes of their jaws, in the line of Viktor’s nose and the high bent of Svetlana’s cheekbones.

“Mm,” Seven confirmed, giving her half-brother a briefly wry look. “… Our father has a tendency to ignore the things he dislikes,” she said. “I mentioned it. Like your engagement, I think he’s decided it doesn’t exist.”

“He would.” Viktor’s eyes narrowed briefly, flashing annoyance, and then he pushed the suitcases in. “Let’s get you unpacked,” he said with sudden, forcible cheer, and Yuuri held back a laugh, because he was already certain that Viktor Nikiforov would be, perhaps, the most unhelpful person in the whole world, in that respect. Visiting in Ann Arbor, simple domestic things like _the dishes_ had utterly escaped him.

Svetlana’s eyes lit up, though, and she promised to help. _Help,_ as it happened, was useful for about an hour, until the Nikiforov half-siblings had come to the conclusion that perhaps unpacking would be more fun as a drinking game. Yuuri went to bed with a very drunk Viktor Nikiforov nestled under his chin, listening to Viktor half-babbling in Russian.

 _Yuuri, later,_ he murmured, almost asleep, still except for the subtle drift of his fingertips over Yuuri’s hips and over his waist, _if we ever … if we ever want to go somewhere, adopt, I’d never do what he’s done._

What, exactly was that?

_Abandon one child, and then make another one feel like she’ll never be good enough._

Yuuri had smiled a little bit, at that: _I knew that already, Vitya._

Vitya had smiled the heart shaped smile into the hollow of Yuuri’s throat, where his breath tickled, drifting off to sleep: _okay._

 

\- - -

 

_July 1, 2015_

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** floor routines today with our new village idiot @katsuki-don  
_otabek-altin, milamilamila, v-nikiforov, seven-nik, and 8 others like this._  
> singsingswing you better be nice to him, plisetsky  
> yuri-plisetsky or what?

 

\- - -

 

“Svin'ya, come on.” Yuri Plisetsky had not seemed particularly happy to see Katsuki Yuuri arrive at Yakov’s gym for practice, but he seemed to have progressed through the stages of grief at a rapid pace. Denial: for a good fifteen minutes, he ignored Yuuri’s presence entirely, bundled up in a leopard-print sweater with the hood pulled up and headphones in. Anger: a fair amount of snark and malice, as Yakov inspected their vaults. _You’re going to have to do better than that, ugly!_ Bargaining: negotiating with Yakov to move to horizontal bar next, where he could well and truly shine over their newest gymnast.

Depression, because Yuuri had promptly completely outdone him on Floor.

“Huh?”

“Gonna go see gramps,” Yuri muttered. “He makes a new Pirozhki that your idiot boyfriend says you’ll like.”

 _Your idiot boyfriend._ The blonde hadn’t referred to Viktor by name all day; in fact, he’d pointedly tried to avoid references to Viktor at all, Viktor, who was at the center of this disruption to the teenager’s routine.

Yuri’d spent a lot of his anger already, a month before, shouting at Viktor face to face:

_How dare you! Are you fucking kidding me? That idiot can’t come and train here._

Viktor who’d put his fingers under Yuri’s chin, who’d pulled it up for a sudden and sharp inspection. _Are you afraid? Worried about a little competition?_

_Afraid of svin'ya? You’ve lost your goddamn mind._

Even Otabek had briefly been more useful, exchanging text messages. For one glorious moment, Otabek had agreed that the change in Katsuki’s coaching situation was a potential invasion of privacy, would expose the potential weaknesses in Yuri’s routines early on, and to a competitor from another international team, no less. Then Otabek had reminded him that advantage was a two way street: _you might both adjust for it, and then the battle will be more interesting._

Useless. _You think of him like a brother, don’t you?_

 _Who,_ Yuri had asked, even though he knew perfectly well who Otabek was talking about. Sure enough:

_Nikiforov._

When Yuri hadn’t responded, Otabek had done something uncharacteristic, and sent a second text, hours later:

_You should probably figure out why you’re not happy for him._

In the process of trying to ascertain that, trying to put some words to his fury, Yuri’d gone and gotten into another argument with Viktor: _all you ever think about is yourself and that idiot! Did you even think about anyone else?_ He’d said anyone else. He’d meant _me._

Viktor had been more than a little distant, then, had done that thing he used against people like a sword: had retreated with impeccable grace to a ground so high that nobody could attack him on it. _You need to work on your understanding of love._

Now Katsuki was in Moscow, which fucking blew, in Yuri’s opinion, but it was time to seize on the opportunity, to make the Japanese pork-cutlet bowl answer for what he’d done. That had been Yuri’s intention, and he’d stewed over it on the train ride out to his grandfather’s, had planned the pirozhki as bribes, even. In spite of all those intentions, the words that came out betrayed him, and were something like this:

“He looks at you sometimes like you’re the only fucking person in his whole universe, you know.”

Yuuri looked at him sharply, his soft face suddenly on high-alert behind those stupid blue glasses. It reminded Yuri of how he’d looked on the livestream at the NCAA Championships. High stakes used to crush Katsuki Yuuri; Tokyo had been proof of that. Now they refined him. Viktor had done that, and Yuri wasn’t sure he liked it. “Viktor?”

“Yeah.”

Yuuri sat in silence for a moment, nearly too long, in Yuri’s opinion, and then he took his glasses off to clean them. “… I don’t really know what to say to that,” he admitted.

“You can admit that it’s pathetic, to start,” Yuri grumbled, picking at the ragged edge of his sweater’s sleeve. It was getting worn out: a favorite worn far too often, far too much. “Dropping everything to move here just because he asked you to. Darting all over the world …”

“… Did you really expect us to keep doing this from two different continents?” It might’ve been Viktor who always wanted to hold and touch, who _needed_ to feel things, but even Yuuri took fresh delight in how close they were now, splitting time between Moscow and St. Petersburg. He’d once thought that he could almost be satisfied listening to the cadence of Viktor’s voice, locked into an echo chamber _listening,_ but it was an entirely different thing to know Viktor was watching him; to turn his head and always catch Viktor _looking._

He’d been willing, all those years ago, to settle for so little of Viktor. His thoughts of love had been so small.

“Well, no, but — ” _Everyone else was a passing fancy._

“Saa.” Yuuri flashed a smile that was mostly grimace. More obvious, perhaps, than when Viktor put up walls, but strained nonetheless. “You didn’t think we’d make it this far,” he murmured, picking at a slip of dirt lodged under a nail.

“Nobody should,” Yuri grumbled, rushing to defend himself. “You’re ridiculous, you’re … It’s not the sort of shit that happens in the real world.”

“It isn’t,” Yuuri agreed, with a brief and bitter laugh. It hadn’t felt real while it was happening. Sometimes it still didn’t. He knew, of course he knew, that Viktor Nikiforov loved him. Yet the mere fact of it, so bald-faced, so impossible: it overwhelmed him to think about. Viktor was more attuned to the impossible. Viktor had been doing impossible things for a whole decade. Viktor skated straight out of fairytale, danced right out of legends and myth. “But here we are.” He paused, took a moment to evaluate Yuri’s stony silence. “It’s not that … It’s not like everyone else in my life is going away,” he murmured carefully, putting a hand over his chest. “I’m homesick a lot. I’m not sure if it’s for Hasetsu or Ann Arbor, because every time I go to Hasetsu it doesn’t really go away, and I bet Ann Arbor would feel the same way now, without going to classes. Like what I’m missing are moments. Or people. So I carry them with me, since they can’t be around all the time … Mari and my parents, Phichit, Leo …”

Yuri looked at him speculatively, one eyebrow pointedly raised. “Good for you,” muttered the younger gymnast, and Yuuri turned to study him for a moment, thinking back to what he’d heard from Viktor, after asking why Yuri’s only family seemed to consist of Yakov and the rest of the Russian team. _Parents separated,_ Viktor murmured with a shrug. _They’re not really around._ Then he’d smiled a little sadly. _It’s not really my story to tell. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell it._

Perhaps that was what Yuri was doing now, trying to tell his story in the only way he knew how: razor edged and half-cracked, a boy who’d been handed too many knives.

“Viktor is more like you, I think. I didn’t understand what he liked so much about Hasetsu, for a long time. It’s such an ordinary place. But my family just threw the doors open and let you all in …” Yuuri planted his palms behind him, leaning back, and looked up at the dingy, low ceiling like he could somehow still see the stars. “He must’ve spent a long time without anyone, really, before you and Christophe came along. He doesn’t have a family like that. So he made one with you.”

“Gross,” Yuri snorted, though one corner of his mouth had twitched upwards. They sat for a long time in silence, and then Yuri flopped back on the ground, his arms crossed behind his head. “When did you know?”

“Huh?”

“All this sappy true love bullshit. When did you know?”

“Oh.” Yuuri chuckled wryly, in spite of himself, and then he let himself stretch out next to the blonde. “I don’t know how anyone meets Viktor without walking away a little in love with him,” he admitted. Viktor whose eyes were as changeable and as inviting as the warm summer sea; Viktor who had a mouth that begged to be kissed.

“That’s because he’s manipulative as fuck,” Yuri grumbled, and his eyes narrowed slightly when Yuuri laughed in return.

“He held onto belief in me when I couldn’t believe in myself,” Yuuri admitted. “I kept trying to convince him I was perfectly ordinary and he kept insisting —“

“I wasn’t asking about _him._ ”

“It was January 12, 2013.” Yuuri’s eyes narrowed with sudden focus. “I sent him a message to congratulate him on the European Championship, and I asked: _do you know how amazing you are?_ ” He smiled a little, holding his hand up to study the band around his ring finger. He said: _do you?_ And I asked: _do I what?_ ” Even now, his heart swelled: “Do you know how amazing _you_ are?”

“So you fell in love with him over instagram.” Plisetsky deadpanned. “You really are an idiot, svin'ya.”

“What’s that make you, then, asking the idiot about fairy-tale love?” Yuuri deftly dodged the swipe of one foot in his direction, and let his hand fall back against his chest. “He taught me that there’s a place you just can’t reach unless you have a dream too large to bear alone.”

 

\- - -

 

_October 12, 2015_

 

**[Instagram]**

**lovelifeleo** AHHHH ROOMIES REUNITED @katsuki-don @phichit+chu special guest @+guanghongji+ #goblue #heshonorary #worlds #rio  
_katsuki-don, phichit+chu, +guanghongji+, ciaociaocialdini and 81 others like this._

 

 **christophe-gc** look at this handsome fam we’re even sharing custody of red-headed stepson @yuri-plisetsky for the week cc @v-nikiforov @katsuki-don #rio #worlds  
_v-nikiforov, katsuki-don, Jjleroy!15, milamilamila and 114 others like this._

 

 **seung-gilee** this is the face of a man wondering: “how did i even wind up here?” at dinner (@otabek-altin one sympathizes)  
_phichit+chu and otabek-altin like this._  
> phichit+chu we wanted to find out if you were a robot Σ(‘◉⌓◉’)  
> seung-gilee and?  
> phichit+chu jury’s still out (｀_´)ゞ

 

 **katsuki-don** someone is having way too much fun in his rented convertible for #rio #worlds @v-nikiforov  
_phichit+chu, Jjleroy!15, v-nikiforov, yuri-plisetsky and 23 others like this._  
> v-nikiforov well it was just there at the airport  
> v-nikiforov someone had to get it  
> Jjleroy!15 daaaaang son #jj-style

 

 **v-nikiforov** @katsuki-don knows the samba!?! #copacabana #rio #worlds #surprises!  
_phichit+chu, Jjleroy!15, christophe-gc, and 72 others like this._  
> christophe-gc witnessed: that boy can dance  
> phichit+chu “:♡.•♬✧⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾*+:•*∴

 

\- - -

 

Was there any greater temptation on earth than Viktor Nikiforov with his fast car, his sunglasses? Than his carefree smile as he trot barefoot down Copacabana beach, ran along the tides? Katsuki Yuuri wasn’t sure, but the beachside bars with their little drinks, and the way Phichit kept ordering sweet, fruity ones with umbrellas in them: none of it could possibly be helping. “Dance with me, Yuuri,” Viktor hummed, his shirt long since forgotten on a chair at the table where Leo and Phichit were busily catching up with Guang Hong. The music overhead was of a completely different sort than all the classical that had recently populated all of Viktor’s playlists: it had quick, carefree heat, was catchy, the sort of thing that demanded movement. Viktor pulled him out of his chair, drew him close.

“This is going to be good,” Christophe swore, digging out his phone while Yuuri was dragged, half-protest and half-delight, out onto the dance floor. Then he whistled: “show him how it’s done, Vitya!”

“… This isn’t going to get R-rated, is it?” Guang Hong asked Leo, who’d adopted a suddenly knowing sort of smile.

Leo flashed the full weight of his grin, and looked across the table at Phichit, who bore a similarly smirky expression. “Wait and see,” he said, right as Yuuri broke into an air flare on the floor.

“It’s never a good idea to start drunk Yuuri Katsuki going on a dance off,” Phichit added, adding his phone to the mix.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Christophe muttered, letting the camera start rolling: “I think it looks like the best idea anyone's had all night long ...”

Better than all of it was Viktor’s astonished laugh, and the way the ghost of grief left his eyes, for however short a time.

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

 

_October 14, 2015_

 

 **Jjleroy!15** #JJ-STYLE #iamthechampion #myfriends #worlds #rio  
_katsuki-don, christophe-gc and 489 others like this._

 

_October 15, 2015_  
  


**singsingswing** told you @yuri-plisetsky now @katsuki-don and I have matching gold medals  
_mari-chan, katsuki-don, madonna-yuuko and 31 others like this._  
> katsuki-don congratulations!  
> phichit+chu i bet @v-nikiforov doesn’t kiss yours … (´꒳`∗)  
> yuri-plisetsky gross  
> singsingswing you can touch mine if you want, @yuri-plisetsky! ^^

 

 **v-nikiforov** of course I kissed it. I’m a man of my word. #rio #worlds  
_katsuki-don, christophe-gc, mari-chan, and 159 others like this._

 

 **christophe-gc** & i photographed it because i’m a shameless opportunist #rio #worlds @v-nikiforov @katsuki-don  
_phichit+chu, lovelifeleo, singsingswing, and 214 others like this.  
_ > yuri-plisetsky GROSS

 

_October 16, 2015_

 

 **phichit+chu** don’t worry I haven’t given up on landing the #chulanont yet! #worlds #rio  
_katsuki-don, lovelifeleo, ciaociaocialdini, and 61 others like this._

 

 **christophe-gc** guuuuurl nobody does what i do with these legs #rio #worlds  
_v-nikiforov, phichit+chu, katsuki-don, and 195 others like this._

 

 **lovelifeleo** next time @phichit+chu’s going to be holding a medal in this roomie selfie with the three of us and honorary @+guanghongji+ #rio #worlds #thechulanontisreal  
_phichit+chu, +guanghongji+, katsuki-don, and 108 others like this._

 

_October 17, 2015_

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** RUSSIA RULES #teamgold #rio #suckitminami  
_v-nikiforov, otabek-altin, milamilamila, and 161 others like this._

 

 **singsingswing** sharing the podium with my hero @katsuki-don #notlisteningplisetsky #rio #worlds  
_v-nikiforov, christophe-gc, phichit+chu, and 128 others like this.  
_

_\- - -_

 

**fig-gymnastics.com Press Release: 2015 World Championship Results**

 

Jean-Jacques Leroy continued his strong run in the lead-up to the Vancouver Olympics, capturing first place in the men’s All Around ahead of veteran Christophe Giacometti and rising Japanese star Katsuki Yuuri. Russian team prodigy Yuri Plisetsky just missed the podium, setting the stage for a rivalry with Katsuki, who has joined Yakov Feltsman’s club in Moscow, expected to continue throughout the next year.Leroy also led in the medal count for the meet, adding a first place finish on Vault, a second place finish on Floor, and Canada’s Team Silver to his tally for the meet and establishing himself as the gymnast to beat in 2016.

Following right behind him were Katsuki, who took home a gold medal in Floor, a bronze on the pommel horse, and Japan’s Team Bronze; and Plisetsky, who nabbed a silver medal on horizontal bar, a bronze on parallel bars, and Russia’s Team Gold. Several reigning world champions were able to defend their titles on individual apparatus:

Swiss veteran Christophe Giacometti defended his title on pommel horse for the fourth consecutive year. Giacometti also made the podium in the floor finals, coming in third place behind Katsuki and Leroy.

Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan made himself the two-time world champion of still rings, finishing just ahead of Russia’s Georgi Popovich and Italy’s Michele Crispino.

Seung-gil Lee of South Korea also secured his second world title on parallel bars, ahead of American Leo de la Iglesia and Plisetsky.

Kenjirou Minami took home his first ever world championship when he secured a gold medal on high bar, narrowly passing Russia’s Plisetsky and the Czech Republic’s Emil Nekola for top honors.

Gymnast Phichit Chulanont knocked himself out of medal contention by attempting to land his newest vault during the competition, opening the door for Guang Hong Ji of China to secure a silver medal finish behind Leroy. Seung-gil Lee leapt ahead of him in the international rankings with his first-ever medal in the event, rounding out the podium in third place.

Most gymnasts will proceed onwards to other invitationals throughout the Spring, and will look to secure their second Olympic qualification by April, in order to make the cut for Vancouver.

 

\- - -

 

_December 25, 2015_

In St. Petersburg, Yuuri Katsuki watched as Viktor draped a new shawl around his mother’s shoulders, dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Merry Christmas, Mama.” Nadezhda Orlova said nothing, looking out the window while _The Nutcracker_ played in the background, the way she’d done all day, only sometimes swaying in time. He’d watched when Viktor took the dinner tray from an orderly, and fed her by hand. Viktor Nikiforov, who’d never really lost anything, who was learning what it meant to lose now.

He came back within easy reach of Yuuri’s hands, and Yuuri let his fingers dance on the nape of Viktor’s neck, gave what he could. He’d known how to lose, before Viktor came along. Before Viktor came along, losing was the only thing he’d known.

Even in victory.

“Let’s take Yuri skating tomorrow,” Viktor murmured. A coping mechanism. A need to surround himself with the people whose departures weren’t so imminent, so immediate. To feel the ice under his feet and to brush it with his hand.

Yuuri crept closer and tilted his head against Viktor’s shoulder. “Mm,” he agreed, and then he turned his head to bump his nose against Viktor’s jaw, to smile fondly into Viktor’s chest, to inhale his cologne. “No taking pictures of him if he falls,” Yuuri cautioned, because there’d been a _lot_ of skating, and a lot of nighttime slow-dances, traversing the open plan of Viktor’s big apartment in St. Petersburg, or completing slow circles around the one he shared with Seven in Moscow. “He always takes it out on me whenever we train together again, afterwards.”

Viktor smiled but it was a new smile, a thoughtful one, a little bit sad. There was a metamorphosis underway and it was changing him:

“Maybe that’s why I do it.”

 

\- - -

 

_January 15, 2016_

 

**isu.org**

_Viktor Nikiforov’s comeback is well underway after securing another win at this year’s European Championships. Coming into January’s contest, questions surrounded Russia’s legendary skater, who has purposefully thinned his competition schedule in order to attend to his mother’s health. Nikiforov dedicated his free skate to her, harkening back to her origins as a ballerina for the Mariinsky ballet. With a program focused more on the elegance of his program components, Nikiforov’s margin of victory was slimmer than previous years, leaving some to wonder if the skater’s dominance in the sport may be starting to come to an end …_

[Highlight Video: Viktor Nikiforov’s Long Program: Swan Lake]

 

\- - -

 

_February 3, 2016_

2:41 am, Moscow

The notes of _Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare_ rang out strong and clear on Yuuri’s nightstand, shaking the gymnast from sleep and sending him fumbling for the phone and his glasses.The phone he managed; the glasses clattered onto the floor in the dark, prompting Vicchan to look up and tilt his head, confused by all the fuss. “… Vitya? What time is it?”

“It’s over, Yuuri. She’s gone.”

Yuuri bolted upright, reaching for the lamp, throwing back the covers. “I’ll be on the first flight.”

 

\- - -

 

**[Texts, Yuuri’s Phone]**

 

 **Yakov:** Russian mourning lasts forty days  
**Yakov:** giving you the first nine before you’re due back for training  
**Yakov:** Popovich is covering your tutoring  
**Yakov:** don’t say we’ve never been nice to you

 

 **Yurotchka:** when is the funeral  
**Yurotchka:** Grandpa and I are coming  
**Yurotchka:** Grandpa says to make sure he eats

 

 **Seven:** Driving a few people up so I can bring Vicchan with us.  
**Seven:** Send me a list if you want anything else you forgot in this morning’s rush  
**Seven:** Give him my love if he’ll have it  
**Seven:** and tell him not to deal with father, I’ll handle it

 

 **Christophe:** bought my ticket  
**Christophe:** make sure he gets back out on the ice, Yuuri  
**Christophe:** don’t let them say he’s finished at worlds

 

 **Mari:** tell Viktor we love him, okay?

 

 **Phichit:** Leo and I are organizing some people for flowers  
**Phichit:** … might need your help figuring out how to send them  
**Phichit:** sorry!

 

\- - -

 

It was 9 AM by the time he let himself into Viktor’s apartment, where the lights were still off, where Viktor sat on the floor with Makkachin’s head in his lap. The dog barely lifted his head to acknowledge the open and close of the front door.

“Viktor…” Viktor stirred ever-so-slightly, but didn’t look up, eyes hidden by the silver curtain of his hair. Yuuri, struck by how small he seemed, how fragile (Viktor Nikiforov had _never_ been fragile), dropped his overnight bag, forgot about the dozens of messages waiting for responses, and strode forward, sliding down to his knees to join the pile of man and dog on the rug in front of the sofa. Viktor’s eyes were red with crying, his cheeks splotchy, but it seemed to be the effect of hours ago, the result of not having been _here_ when the call finally came.

So Viktor had fallen apart and tried to put himself back together on his own.

That wouldn’t do. Viktor had been the one to show Yuuri how the pieces of broken hearts could mend stronger. _“I’m here, Vitya,”_ he breathed, all careful Russian. _“I’m so sorry.”_

Viktor stiffened for a fraction of a moment only and then the dam broke.

 

_\- - -_

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **v-nikiforov** if i have in any way ever inspired anyone it is because this extraordinary woman first inspired me. there are no words for this loss. sleep well, мама.  
_katsuki-don, christophe-gc, yuri-plisetsky, and 736 others like this._

 

_\- - -_

 

Seven had been the one to explain the traditions of the church to him. The way the soul left the body on the third day, the way the spirit followed on the ninth. The wake. The funeral service at the Church of St. Nicholas, at the Alexander Nevsky monastery. The way Seven had quietly pointed out why Viktor had chosen such a place for the funeral service: because the tombstones of a dozen other Russian luminaries littered its cemeteries.

Then afterwards the gravesite ceremony, standing outside in a bitter and unforgiving cold to receive a second blessing which he barely understood. Yuuri had been a pallbearer, though he sensed that it was a choice the Priest didn’t completely agree with. _My lifestyle choices have nothing to do with the funeral my mother deserves,_ Viktor had said, all frozen steel, and in the wake of his metal, even the Priest had yielded. Then again, so had Christophe, and Yuri, and Yakov, and even Nikolai Plisetsky; every one of them unwilling to let this be a weight Viktor bore on his own even in the most ceremonial sense.

He’d learned that Russians put trinkets into the coffins of their loved ones; that Viktor hid the Beijing medal among blankets, afraid it might get stolen, along with other things: the dried out flower crown, her favorite record, an old pair of pointe shoes. After the second blessing at the gravesite, he’d thrown coins in with the others, a tradition, just in case there was anything else Nadezhda Orlova needed on her way to what came next.

Much, much later, Yuuri walked back with Viktor to sit in an empty church that, in the late evening light, shimmered and flickered with the reflection of candles off of its ornate, gilded stylings; held his hand in companionable silence.

“What do you think happens, after someone dies?”

Another thing they’d never really spoken about. He’d never gotten the sense that Viktor was particularly religious, though it seemed his mother had been. _Traditional,_ Viktor had murmured, earlier in the week, subtly correcting Svetlana’s attempt to tell the tale. _She was … traditional._ He’d looked at Yuuri, then, sad and lost, trying to explain something for which there were no words. _She was_ _Russian._

Yuuri thought of the Shinto shrines back home, the way even his name had been written somewhere, and he shook his head slightly, contemplative. “I suppose I believe … I believe that our energy keeps going even when our bodies do not.”

“Reincarnation?”

“Maybe. Maybe the essence of your mother is dancing into another life, even now.” Yuuri shifted subtly in the pew, draping an arm over Viktor’s shoulders. “My family doesn’t really do any of this, so I don’t have a very good answer. But I can tell you what I think I’ve learned, thanks to you.”

Viktor attempted a smile. It flickered briefly the way a struck match might’ve done, in a rainstorm. “What’s that?”

“I’ve learned that if you love something enough, that love moves into your body and does amazing things. That it can hold you together when everything else in your mind is screaming at you to fall apart. That it fixes hearts even when you think they’re too broken to ever work again, rebuilds them bigger and brighter and better …” Yuuri turned his head and left a soft kiss on Viktor’s cheek, then reached up to wipe away the fresh streak of a new set of tears. “All this time I used to think you were so far away, but I could picture your voice with crystal clarity, remember the way your eyes sparkle when you smile, like you were standing right in front of me, Vitya.” He left his hands on either side of Viktor’s face, tilted his head so that their noses brushed.

“I don’t know anything about what the Priest was talking about with souls, but you taught me this: the people you really love? They don’t ever really leave you.”

 

\- - -

 

_February 18, 2016_

 

“Don’t tell me to just get back out there, Christophe, it’s not that simple …” The world had kept moving for everyone else, but not for Viktor Nikiforov. Even Yuuri had returned, reluctantly, to Moscow, where the work that allowed him to remain in Russia at all was waiting, along with his training with Yakov and Yuri. Viktor could not begrudge him that, six months before Vancouver. He’d promised to come for a visit to Moscow soon, as soon as he finished going through his mother’s possessions, decided what to do with the house he had never wanted to sell.

Except it was hard and slow work to go through her things, stacked up in boxes in his living room, trying to decide what parts of a life were meant to remain when nobody but him seemed to be asking for the memories of them.

“I’m just saying that your mother would want you to be out there at worlds, doing what you love.” Christophe was back in Geneva, too, looking ahead to the European gymnastics championships, same as Yuri. “From what you’ve told me I don’t think she’d want you to stop skating on her account…”

“You think I haven’t been skating? I’ve been skating.” Viktor sucked in a breath, terse. “I’m like a nomad on the ice. Like someone lost. The way she used to get when she’d call from some place really obvious, like Dvortsovaya Polschad, and tell me she couldn’t figure out how to get home. I glide around and I can’t convince myself that it’s particularly important, if I do a quad on a jump, or a triple, for that matter, doubles even …”

“I will tell you why it’s important, Viktor. It’s important because parts of that women live on in you, and when you skate, everyone who sees you is watching the part of her that loved to dance go back out on the floor.”

 

\- - -

 

_March 16, 2016_

Budapest, Hungary

_“Taking the ice now is Viktor Nikiforov, in first place after his Short Program…”_

Yuuri had given him a small piece of paper, inconsequential really, to tuck underneath his costume for the free skate. On it he’d written:

_show me the skating you can honestly say she liked the best  
_ _it’s the only shortcut I know to winning a gold medal_

Viktor thought of Christophe, talking to him about the part of Nadezhda that lived on; and Yuuri, telling him about the way nothing really loved was ever totally lost:

_Let’s dance, mama._

The music started. So did he.

 

\- - -

 

**isu.org Press Release**

_World Champion Viktor Nikiforov announces all proceeds following his victory at the 2016 World Championships are to be donated to the Alzheimer’s Association, in honor of his mother, Nadezhda Orlova._

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

 

_March 31, 2016_

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** gearing up to kick @christophe-gc’s ass at #european #championships  
_v-nikiforov, christophe-gc, milamilamila and 165 others like this._

 

 **christophe-gc** get in line, and take a number @yuri-plisetsky #europeanchampionships  
_katsuki-don, v-nikiforov, lovelifeleo and 171 others like this._

 

\- - -

 

 _Of all the places I’ve been, this is one of the ones I love the most,_ Viktor had explained, walking hand-in-hand with Yuuri down the cobblestone edge of the Seine. He’d taken Yuuri all over the place, into a crowded bookstore on the waterfront, given him a personal tour of the Orsay, walked him through Notre Dame and guided him through the maze that was the Louvre. _I want to show you something._

They’d waited for a good twenty minutes to take their selfie in front of The Winged Victory of Samothrace.

_Isn’t she beautiful?_

It was like Viktor to admit that his favorite piece of art was a statue of Nike, somehow. As Yuuri held his phone out for a photo, Viktor smiled slyly, leaned in, and planted a kiss on one of his round cheeks. Multi-capture caught the series; Viktor insisted on posting the collage:

Yuuri, setting up the perfect photo; Viktor, stealing a kiss; Yuuri, eyes wide, apples of his cheeks as bright as blossoms.

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **katsuki-don** I’m being told I have to post this  
_v-nikiforov, phichit+chu, mari-chan and 52 others like this._  
v-nikiforov yuuuuuuri  
v-nikiforov do you know how cute you are

 

\- - -

 

Yuri Plisetsky had been nigh intolerable on the flight home, bragging about his new title.

 _Careful,_ Viktor warned, the armrest between his seat and Yuuri’s folded up, already half-asleep with Yuuri titled against the window and Viktor spilled over onto his chest, mask pulled over his eyes: _He’s always bored at the start of a season. Christophe always peaks late._

It surprised Yuuri, sometimes, the way Viktor had noticed these little things about competitors who weren’t even in his sport. He lifted a hand, swept his fingers through Viktor’s silver-blonde hair, and smiled.

_He’d make a good coach, someday._

 

_\- - -_

 

_April 24, 2016_

**nbcolympics.com Gymnastics Qualification rounds complete: What to look for in Vancouver**

_Olympic qualifiers for men’s gymnastics finished with contests in America and in Japan this week, and with results in now from every continent and rosters set for every team this year’s meet is looking like one for the ages. Here’s what to expect:_

_TEAM FINALS:_

_The reigning world champions are Yakov Feltsman’s Russian squad, featuring not one but two super-star performers in Georgi Popovich and Yuri Plisetsky. Feltsman’s team is particularly known for their routines on the horizontal bar, where they have the highest collective difficulty score of any team in the meet. In addition to the Russians, strong contenders for medals include the home team, anchored by Canadian heartthrob and hometown favorite Jean-Jacques Leroy; the Japanese team, the Americans and the British. For the Americans to win the gold they’ll be looking to rising star Leo de la Iglesia to improve on his performance at last year’s World Championships._

_VAULT:_

_Going in to the contest, Jean-Jacques Leroy is the defending world champion, but all eyes will be on Phichit Chulanont, who has yet to land his newly invented three-and-a-half twist in an international meet, and who desperately wants to bring home Thailand’s first gymnastics medal. Other strong contenders in vault include Guang Hong Ji of China and Seung-gil Lee of South Korea._

_RINGS:_

_Still rings is Otabek Altin’s event to win or lose. Long considered the best in the world on this apparatus, Altin will look to stand on top of the podium, where he may be joined by Georgi Popovich of Russia, Michele Crispino of Italy, Yuuri Katsuki of Japan or Jean-Jacques Leroy._

_HIGH BAR:_

_Kenjirou Minami of Japan shocked the world at last year’s World Championships, edging out Russian favorite Yuri Plisetsky for the event title. Other high-flying horizontal bar competitors to keep an eye on are Leo de la Iglesia, of the United States; Guang Hong Ji, of China; and Czech gymnast Emil Nekola._

_PARALLEL BARS:_

_Seung-gil Lee goes into the Olympics with the highest difficulty score of any competitor on this apparatus, but he has been criticized for connecting moves that lack elegance and flow. He’ll continue to look to maximize on his technical skills, but is expected to fend off challenges from the United States, Russia, Canada, and Japan._

_POMMEL HORSE:_

_Crowd favorite Christophe Giacometti is the world’s best on Pommel Horse, and certainly can always be trusted to put on a show. This is an apparatus where other competitors are beginning to close the gap on his technical score, though, including Seung-gil Lee and Yuuri Katsuki. Canadian captain Jean-Jacques Leroy has said he also intends to compete in the event, and Otabek Altin, the Kazakh hero, is also a dark horse for medal contention, having shown extraordinary improvement in the last year in his scores on the apparatus._

_FLOOR:_

_Men’s floor is expected to be one of the most competitive events of this year’s meet, with new high scores being set in regional championships all over the world. It’s a particular strength of three different team Captains: hometown hero Jean-Jacques Leroy, Swiss veteran Christophe Giacometti, and Japanese captain Yuuri Katsuki. Yakov Feltsman, Russia’s gymnastics coach, has noted that he expects Yuri Plisetsky to also qualify in this event, which he’s also begun to put up big marks for, setting a new personal best in this month’s European Championships in Paris with Katsuki watching in the crowd._

_INDIVIDUAL ALL-AROUND_

_Jean-Jacques Leroy is heavily favored to take home the men’s title, but with so many amazing competitors this year it really could be anyone’s game._

 

\- - -

 

_July 22, 2016_

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **Jjleroy!15** OPENING CEREMONIES TONIGHT! IT’S GONNA BE LIT #JJ-STYLE #VANCOUVER2016  
_lovelifeleo, christophe-gc, phichit+chu and 921 others like this.  
__> _ yuri-plisetsky better hope your gymnastics are better than your puns

 

 **singsingswing** @katsuki-don and I have got our game faces and these awesome red blazers on #paradeofnations #vancouver2016  
_v-nikiforov, lovelifeleo, mari-chan, and 407 others like this._

 

 **lovelifeleo** YOU KNOW WE HAD TO GRAB A #ROOMIES selfie. but also honorary @+guanghongji+ bc #tradition @katsuki-don @phichit+chu  
_phichit+chu, +guanghongji+, katsuki-don, singsingswing and 651 others like this._

 

 **christophe-gc** gonna sashay my way through an olympic opening ceremonies one more time, ladies and gentlemen #vancouver2016  
_v-nikiforov, yuri-plisetsky, katsuki-don and 314 others like this.  
_ > yuri-plisetsky #oldmanknees ?

 

\- - -

 

_July 24, 2016_

 

It was a sunny day in Stanley Park, warm, breezy, pleasant. All around Viktor Nikiforov were warm rays of summer heat and the smell of green grass, and he felt a contentment that had seemed distant, these past few months, coming out of the February thaw. Never had the old fairytale about winter and death felt so tangible as it did now as his fingers swept through Yuuri Katsuki’s hair, stretched out in the middle of a field with the gymnast’s head pillowed on his stomach. He felt anonymous here, watching the bicycles drift by on the trails that made up the edge of the park, overlooking boats on the harbor. _Happy. This is what happiness felt like._

Even Yuuri looked at ease, his glasses tucked into his shirt, an arm folded over his eyes to shield them from the sun. As though Event Qualifications weren’t looming on the horizon the next day. Like he hadn’t woken up early for Japan’s rotation in the gym. Right now they had the afternoon, and the afternoon was stretching on, glorious and warm and eternal.

“I like it here,” Viktor murmured.

“Yeah,” Yuuri agreed, and he stirred, crawled up until he was hovering over Viktor’s face, casting a long shadow over the figure skater, but haloed in golden summer light. “It’s beautiful.”

Viktor’s lips twitched and his eyes, the color of the summer sea extending out to the west, flickered with mercurial mischief. “You are,” he agreed, and he sat up to capture Yuuri’s lips before the gymnast could protest.

 

\- - -

 

_July 25, 2016_

 

**Individual Men’s Events: Rings and Pommel Horse**

 

_“Well, here we are Jim, down to the last competitor on rings. Jean-Jacques Leroy took a few deductions early on, what do you think happened?”_

_“He just didn’t hold his poses quite long enough to get their full value, Bob. It’s the first event of this Olympics for the men, so he’s still got some time to let his nerves settle. Before the commercial break, we saw Yuuri Katsuki knock him off the podium. Katsuki’s currently sitting in third place, waiting for Otabek Altin to come perform his routine, behind Michele Crispino and Georgi Popovich, who’ve both guaranteed themselves a medal.”_

_“Not a position I’d want to be in. Altin’s the World Champion.”_

_“I have to say he doesn’t seem too concerned. He’s talking to the Russians now.”_

_“Katsuki’s in an unusual situation; he trains in Moscow with the Russian team. Here we are, Otabek Altin. What’s your favorite thing about this routine, Jim?”_

_“Bob, the amazing thing about Otabek is the way he makes it look effortless …”_

“Shut up,” Yuri Plisetsky murmured, standing up from the bench and stepping past Yakov, Georgi, and Yuuri, who’d come over to offer his congratulations. “I want to watch Beka.”

_“Look at how long he holds those positions! You also see him opening his palms, which signals to the judges that his wrists aren’t resting on the rings. That’s kind of a shortcut, a false grip, and it can earn a deduction …”_

_You can do it, Beka,_ Yuri thought, as Otabek swung into a perfect iron cross, his face perfectly impassive. _You can take a gold home to Kazakhstan._

_“Here comes his dismount, a laid out double-double — STUCK IT. There it is, Bob. Otabek Altin has just given Kazakhstan its first ever medal in men’s gymnastics — and with a score of 16.000, it’s Olympic Gold! Look at him salute the crowd! And here he is, coming down to shake hands with Katsuki, Crispino, and Popovich.”_

_“Even Plisetsky, who came in last of the men’s finalists on this event, has just given him a high-five and a — wow, Jim. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Yuri Plisetsky give anyone a hug before.”_

_“The kid’s a competitor, that’s for sure. Let’s recap: Gold for Altin, Silver for Popovich, and Bronze for Crispino. Japan’s Yuuri Katsuki falls just off the podium, ahead of Vancouver crowd favorite Jean-Jacques Leroy.”_

 

_\- - -_

 

_“You’re joining us for the men’s gymnastic finals in Pommel Horse, where we’re halfway through this afternoon’s competitors. Christophe Giacometti has just put up a remarkably high score — a massive 15.966. We’re watching Seung-gil Lee, the strongest gymnast on the Korean team this year…”_

_“Seung-gil is a technical master when it comes to putting together routines with really high difficulty scores, but sometimes I think his execution can be a little bit lacking — see the wobble as he transitions into a handstand, here? Really challenging maneuver but at the Olympics the judges are going to expect everything to be perfect. Here we are with the dismount, small hop, now let’s wait for the score … he moves into second place!”_

_“Hard to tell whether or not he’s happy with that performance, Jim. Look at that expression.”_

_“Stoic. You can tell he’s really come to compete. We’ll see him again in a few days on Parallel Bars, and again in the men’s All-Around. And of course he’ll be anchoring the Korean team in the Team Finals. Katsuki Yuuri is up next. Can he medal in this event, Bob?”_

_“His technical score isn’t as high as Giacometti’s, but no one’s is. This is an event one of the assistant American coaches, Celestino Cialdini, really worked on with him during his time at the University of Michigan. He said he noticed Katsuki had higher endurance than some of his other gymnasts and began working with him on strength events in addition to tumbling, which is what he’s more known for … Here we go; keep an eye on the speed of his hands as he traverses the pommel.”_

_“Not as fast or as flashy as Giacometti’s routine …”_

_“No, but he’s really putting it onto the horse cleanly. Here we are, up for the dismount, and now he’s just waiting for his score … Jim, he’s done it! Yuuri Katsuki takes home his first medal of the games, grabbing a bronze just behind Lee. Here comes Christophe Giacometti, who’s —“_

_“Picked him up in a hug and is swinging him around the apparatus, while holding Seung-gil’s arm up in the air… Now there’s a photo, eh?”_

_“Tell me about it.”_

In the audience, sitting between Yuuri’s parents, his sister, and Nikolai Plisetsky, Viktor Nikiforov sprang to his feet to celebrate with them, waving the Japanese flag, laughing long and loud. He threw an arm around Mari’s shoulders, and stuck two fingers in his mouth and wolf-whistled. “Put him down, Christophe! Get your own!”

_“We’d be remiss not to mention that Jean-Jacques Leroy missed the podium again today. Neither one of these are his signature events, but the Canadian Captain has to be disappointed in today’s results. There he is, leaving the arena …”_

_“Time to have a long talk with his coaches. JJ Leroy has never had a problem with confidence, but maybe the pressure of the home stage is getting to him?”_

_“Time will tell, Bob. See you tomorrow for the vault and parallel bars rotations!”_

 

\- - -

 

_July 26, 2016_

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **phichit+chu** today is the day. i’m doing it. ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ #thechulanont  
_yuri-plisetsky, katsuki-don, lovelifeleo, and 413 others like this._  
_> _ lovelifeleo YESSSSSSSS  
> lovelifeleo you’re going to stick it  
> lovelifeleo YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST YOU GUYS

 

\- - -

 

**Individual Men’s Events: Parallel Bars and Vault**

 

_“We’re back in the Olympic Arena for today’s individual finals in Parallel Bars and Vault. Is it me or did Jean-Jacques Leroy still look nervous, Bob?”_

_“You know, I think yesterday’s performance on rings and pommel might still be staying in his head. Rotations and event orders can be tricky things, Jim; sometimes it gets in a gymnast’s head. He put up a decent score, but he’s going to have to wait for a while until he knows whether or not it’s going to be good enough to keep him on the podium.”_

_What is wrong with me?_ Jean-Jacques sat on a bench on the sidelines, trying to focus on the music streaming in from his phone. _I’m at home. This is my home. Why do I keep making these stupid mistakes?_

_“Here we are with Leo de la Iglesia, who’s just graduated from the University of Michigan, with his coach Celestino Cialdini close on hand. Cialdini’s close with some of today’s other competitors: he used to coach Yuuri Katsuki, currently in fifth, and Thailand’s Phichit Chu, who we’ll see later today in the vault finals … Katsuki’s moved up to the edge of the mat to cheer his old teammate on.”_

Yuuri, who’d cupped his mouth with both hands. Leo had been the Captain after him, this past year, and that was deserving of a familiar cheer: “OH CAPTAIN MY CAPTAIN,” he shouted. “Go blue!”

_“That’s a new personal best for de la Iglesia, and it’s put him in front of Leroy. Here he is, hugging his coach and his former roommate — and our next competitor, Seung-gil Lee, is up for his routine. Seung-gil is the reigning world champion in this event.”_

_“It’s just a pleasure to watch him on this apparatus, Jim. He can put up over sixteen points with his difficulty score. Look at his hands — he never makes an adjustment, never takes an adjustment. And that’s a huge dismount — a big double-front with a half twist.”_

_“Little shuffle on the landing.”_

_“Yeah, but look at his technical elements. That’ll be a very big score — and it is! Seung-gil Lee passes Leroy and de la Iglesia, and goes into first place. He’s the new man to beat. Last man up on this rotation is Russia’s Yuri Plisetsky …”_

_“Look at Katsuki’s antics on the sidelines with de la Iglesia! They’ve pulled Seung-gil Lee into a line to wait for Plisetsky’s routine…”_

“You found it, huh?”

Seung-gil debated whether or not it was worth trying to wiggle out from under the weight of Yuuri Katsuki’s arm around his shoulders. Leo de la Iglesia was lined up on the other side, swaying back and forth. _Not on national television._ Tolerance, for now, seemed the safer bet.

“Found what?”

“Something that inspires you.”

Seung-gil’s lips twitched in spite of himself. “That’s really none of your damn business.”

_“Plisetsky’s a very graceful gymnast, he makes some very artistic and unusual transitions in this routine. He’s not quite as strong as some of the other competitors in this event, butI love this dismount — beautiful work! Let’s see the results … Second place! He knocks Leroy off the podium, and jumps just ahead of Leo de la Iglesia!”_

_“… de la Iglesia’s in far too good of a mood to care, it looks like - look at the American, wrangling the other two into a hug for the cameras…”_

Yuuri smiled to himself, turning back to collect his stuff. He was struck by Jean-Jacques Leroy, who sat in an unusual stillness, all pale shock. It was a picture he immediately empathized with, painfully familiar: _this is what I must have looked like in 2012._ “JJ?”

“H-huh?”

Yuuri’s hand clasped around Jean-Jacques Leroy’s wrist, and he tugged the Canadian gymnast to his feet, and back towards the stairs up to the arena floor. “What are you doing? Leave me alone, they’re getting their photos, it's not my place —“

“Showing you something important,” Yuuri said, and he drifted behind Jean-Jacques, pushing him up the short stack of stairs. A murmur rose in the crowd, and as Jean-Jacques hit the mat, Yuuri gestured towards him, and mimed clapping his hands. A roar of applause answered him back, along with an even louder set of answering cheers from the Canadian fans.

“I fell apart in Tokyo,” Yuuri told him, clasping JJ on the shoulders as the Canadian looked up at the fans in surprise and shock. “It took me forever to learn this. Look at them, JJ. They’re not counting medals. They still love _you_.”

“Huh,” Viktor Nikiforov murmured in the crowd as he came to his feet to join the applause Katsuki Yuuri had summoned simply to encourage Jean-Jacques Leroy, stepping in to try to spare him from all of the anguish he’d brought on himself after one bad day of qualifying. Mari Katsuki looked over at him, curious.

“What is it, Viktor?”

“I didn’t think it was possible to be more in love with your brother,” Viktor admitted, smiling gently and soft. “But look at him.” Yuuri looked up towards their seats and gave a shy smile, a little wave, and Viktor returned it with enthusiasm, looking at the gleam of gold on his ring finger. “Look at how big his heart is.”

“Yeah, well.” Mari smiled, pleased, and behind her the Katsukis looked touched, too. “Better make sure you take care of it. I’m going outside for a smoke before they set up for vault.”

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **Jjleroy!15** @katsuki-don has just reminded me why everyone he knows cherishes his friendship. #vancouver2016 #theolympicspirit #islove  
_v-nikiforov, phichit+chu, lovelifeleo and 882 others like this._  
> christophe-gc have you decided to give me some trouble after all, JJ?  
> Jjleroy!15 just starting my fight, Giacometti. Time to turn up the #jj-style

 

 **v-nikiforov** it’s fun watching all these gymnasts take home their gold medals, but I get to go home with a gold-medal heart #theolympicspirit #islove  
_phichit+chu, lovelifeleo, mari-chan, katsuki-don and 715 others like this._  
> christophe-gc had you forgotten?  
> v-nikiforov in a really strange way, yes  
> v-nikiforov but i like it here  
> v-nikiforov it’s like the end of a certain kind of winter  
> yuri-plisetsky you know your followers aren’t here to listen to you wax poetic about that idiot, right?  
> v-nikiforov have to occupy the offseason somehow, yurotchka  
> v-nikiforov here, hang on:

 

 **v-nikiforov** big-brother proud of this one, too. have an embarrassing throwback photo in his honor @yuri-plisetsky #vancouver2016 #theolympicspirit #islove  
_katsuki-don, otabek-altin, phichit+chu, and 849 others like this._  
> lovelifeleo how on earth did you catch him asleep with six kittens?  
> v-nikiforov my theory:  
> v-nikiforov they recognized their own kind

 

\- - -

 

_“We’ve got a tremendously exciting evening ahead of us in vault, Bob. Phichit Chulanont confirmed this evening that he is going to attempt his new vault on the world’s biggest stage, and so everyone will be waiting with baited breath to see if he pulls it off …”_

_“Absolutely, Jim. We’re a little more than halfway through the contest. Yuri Plisetsky has just passed Korea’s Seung-gil Lee, and will be waiting for our final three gymnasts to find out whether or not he’ll collect his second medal of the day.”_

_“Up next is China’s best vaulter, Guang Hong Ji. He’s going to start with a Dragulescu, which is a handspring, two somersaults, and a half-turn on the end — really excellent! A 15.266. His second vault has a 6.2 difficulty, slightly harder, two and a half-twist … beautifully performed!”_

_“That puts him in ahead of Plisetsky with two gymnasts to go. Here we have Jean-Jacques Leroy, who has an absolutely explosive vault out of the gate. It’s a handspring with three front somersaults, which he first landed back in the world championships. He signals the judges and takes off — and there he goes! Oooh, what do you think, Jim?”_

_“That was a pretty huge step out, but that vault has a massive difficulty score of seven points, and what matters is he definitely got in all the rotations. The judges seem to agree. Let’s see what’s up next …”_

JJ stopped at the end of the running lane, and took a moment to look around the arena, to listen to the roar of cheers. _I’m not finished yet,_ he thought, and raced forward, sprang onto the table:

_“Massive! He’s fighting through it. Leroy slips ahead of Guang Hong Ji into first place, Plisetsky is in third, and here’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for …”_

_“Phichit Chulanont of Thailand, on his first vault. First up is a two and a half twist, well done right out of the gate — tiny hop, but he’s put up a massive score! The pressure is on.”_

_“Phichit is the only gymnast to qualify for Thailand, and this is his only event… We’ve all been waiting for his second vault, a three and a half twist. If he lands it, he’ll be the first man to do so, but if he misses it and falls it’s zero points, which will ruin his average and send him into last place.You have to admit it takes some courage to make it all or nothing with this vault.”_

_Three and a half twists, Phichit._ He walked slowly to the end of the ramp, raised his arm, took a deep breath. _Three and a half twists and gymnasts will do a vault named after you for the rest of time._

_Three and a half twists and the flag of Thailand makes it onto the pages of this sport forever._

“Come on Phichit,” Guang Hong muttered under his breath, clutching a teddy bear that had been handed down from the audience close to his chest.

Katsuki Yuuri, up in the stands next to his fiancee, pressed his palms together next to his mouth, uncertain of what exactly he was praying for. Celestino Cialdini had two last words of advice, accompanying one of his American gymnasts, but nonetheless rooting for this one giant hope.

All of them were wishing for the same thing: Phichit’s one dream, too big to be carried alone:

“Stick it.”

_“It sure does. He’s got other, safer vaults in his repertory, but he promised his fans he’d go for it here — and here we go, he springs off of the table, one, two, three — HE’S DONE IT! Phichit Chulanont is the first man to land the three and a half twist!”_

_“Phichit Chulanont will take home the gold medal. Look at him, Jim, he’s kissed the ground, he’s racing around to get the other medalists, he’s —“_

_“That’s just too much energy to be stored in one body, Bob. No wonder he vaults off the table like he’s a firework.”_

 

_\- - -_

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **lovelifeleo** CALLED IT @phichit+chu wins thailand’s first ever gold #vancouver2016 #thechulanont  
_katsuki-don, phichit+chu, seung-gilee, otabek-altin and 653 others like this._

 

 **katsuki-don** @phichit+chu is the king of twists #vancouver2016 #thechulanont  
_ciaociaocialdini, phichit+chu, v-nikiforov and 486 others like this._

 

 **phichit+chu** STUCK IT (´•̥̥̥д•̥̥̥`̀ू๑)‧º·˚ STUCK IT ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و DREAMS DO COME TRUE #vancouver2016  
_ciaociaocialdini, lovelifeleo, katsuki-don and 1,026 others like this._  
> katsuki-don THE CHULANONT  
> katsuki-don it’s yours forever  
> phichit+chu I’M NOT CRYING YOU’RE CRYING  
> lovelifeleo WE’RE ALL CRYING

 

\- - -

 

_July 27, 2016_

 

**[Instagram]**

**singsingswing** rivalry photo. beating this guy later. we took two @yuri-plisetsky #notactuallybitinghishead #maybealittle #vancouver2016  
_yuri-plisetsky, katsuki-don, v-nikiforov and 367 others like this._

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** time to crush the pipsqueak @singsingswing #actuallybitinghishead #thisiswar #vancouver2016  
_otabek-altin, singsingswing, katsuki-don and 259 others like this._

 

 **christophe-gc** hey look @v-nikiforov’s wife and smol son both compete in signature events today #vancouver2016  
_lovelifeleo, v-nikiforov, phichit+chu and 417 others like this._  
> yuri-plisetsky … smol son?  
> katsuki-don … wife?  
> phichit+chu troll score: 15.266

 

\- - -

 

**Individual Men’s Events: Horizontal Bar and Floor**

_“We’re into day four of the men’s gymnastics meet, with horizontal bar happening this morning and the floor meet happening this afternoon. Let’s jump straight in: there was a surprise in qualification, with Yuri Plisetsky overtaking his longtime rival on the horizontal bar, Japan’s Kenjirou Minami.”_

_“They’ll be the last two gymnasts to compete in this morning’s routines. But we have a full morning ahead of them with a number of top-notch performances. Keep an eye on Leo de la Iglesia and Guang Hong Ji, who both took home medals yesterday, and Emil Nekola. Together those gymnasts make up the top five and with their difficulty scores it’s really anyone’s game, Bob.”_

Kenjirou Minami stood on the floor, looking up for a moment at the horizontal bar that stretched so far over his head. _Four years ago, I was watching this from home …_ Four years ago, he’d been too young to compete. Four years ago, Katsuki Yuuri had taken the whole fate of Team Japan onto his shoulders and he’d struggled onwards alone. Four years ago he’d watched his hero fight his way back up to just the one medal, a bronze on floor that stood in stark contrast to Vancouver’s seemingly limitless possibilities. “I’m ready,” he said, and jumped as his coach lifted him up.

_This is for you, Katsuki-san._

Yuuri Katsuki, the first person who’d ever made him think he could fly.

_“High bar is Kenjirou’s bread and butter, Jim, and what you’re really going to see in this routine are a number of incredible moves with tremendous speed and height coming off of the bar. Here we go, starting off with a Cassina, and then a laid-out Tkachev, and he’s flawlessly connecting it into a one-and-a-half over the bar. Incredible extension there, he just cuts straight through the air — coming up on the dismount now, it’s a Takamoto Half, laid-out double-twisting double dismount … Nailed it!”_

_“Look at that smile, he’s got to be ecstatic with that performance …”_

_“He’s roaring! 15.833. Terrific work. Minami has turned up the heat on Yuri Plisetsky of Russia — let’s see how his rival responds…”_

Even Kenjirou Minami could admit that Yuri Plisetsky’s high bar routine had style. He stood on the sidelines, watching as the Russian gymnast twisted and flew, eyes locked on the blonde all the way through to his dismount and the tiny, telling hop. _I can’t take this, he’s going to win —_

_“It’s a great routine for Plisetsky, but not enough to take the gold! 15.5 even. He’ll have to settle for silver.”_

_“Kenjirou Minami’s come forward to celebrate and — what’s this?”_

_“Plisetsky’s tucked him under an arm and is ruffling his hair. These gymnasts, Jim —“_

_“We talk a lot about the competition, Bob, but these guys see each other all year long in meets all over the world.”_

_“That’s right. None of them ever really roots for someone else to fail.”_

 

\- - -

 

 _Show me the gymnastics you can honestly say you liked the best._ Viktor’s voice. Viktor was somewhere in this crowd, cheering and waving a Japan flag, and Yuuri knew that, could’ve looked for him.

He didn’t need to. He had a perfect picture of Viktor sealed away in the recesses of his heart:

_“Here comes Yuuri Katsuki, tumbling straight out of the gate with a half-front half…”_

 

_\- - -_

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **lovelifeleo** OH CAPTAIN MY CAPTAIN congratulations @katsuki-don! #vancouver2016  
_v-nikiforov, mari-chan, madonna-yuuko and 562 others like this._

 

 **v-nikiforov** heart of gold + gold medal = @katsuki-don #vancouver2016  
_mari-chan, madonna-yuuko, phichit+chu and 782 others like this._

 

 **Jjleroy!15** congratulations to @christophe-gc on his bronze and @katsuki-don on his gold - thanks for reminding me to get back up there with you guys #vancouver2016 #jj-style  
_katsuki-don, v-nikiforov, christophe-gc and 1,296 others like this.  
_ > christophe-gc questions that need answers: good looking podium or GREAT looking podium?

 

 **katsuki-don** (sometimes, my whole life is too good to be true) #vancouver2016  
_v-nikiforov, Jjleroy!15, phichit+chu and 954 others like this._

 

\- - -

 

_August 1, 2016_

 

**Men’s All Around**

 

_“We’re down to our last rotation of the top five qualifiers, Jim, and it’s on Horizontal Bar. Let’s recap how things have evolved so far for viewers just catching up.”_

_“We started the day off on Pommel Horse, where Christophe Giacometti, who won gold on that apparatus just a few days ago sprang into an early lead, followed by Seung-gil Lee of Korea. Jean-Jacques Leroy improved on his individual event score to come in third, followed by Yuuri Katsuki of Japan and Yuri Plisetsky of Russia. It’s not unusual to see rankings shake up as gymnasts move around the arena, though, and when we moved onto rings it was Jean-Jacques Leroy who put up the highest score on that apparatus, the second highest of the meet …”_

_“Yeah. Otabek Altin won the gold medal on the individual title, but isn’t competing in the All-Around. After Leroy came Katsuki, Giacometti, Lee and Plisetsky. Tough opening rotation events for Yuri Plisetsky of Russia, but here’s where the day started to get interesting.”_

_“Couldn’t agree more. Jean-Jacques Leroy held onto the lead in Vault, followed by Yuri Plisetsky, Seung-gil Lee, Christophe Giacometti, and Yuuri Katsuki of Japan. Katsuki’s always struggled with vault, Bob, and while he didn’t take a fall his difficulty score on the apparatus is a little bit lower than the other top-flight gymnasts competing for a podium spot in the All-Around.”_

_“Exactly right, Jim. In Parallel Bars we saw a flawless performance from Seung-gil Lee, but Plisetsky put up the second-highest marks, followed by Katsuki and Leroy.And we’ve just come off of the Floor event, where Yuuri Katsuki executed a practically flawless routine, followed closely by Jean-Jacques Leroy, and Plisetsky leaping over Giacometti in the scores. It’s now an incredibly close race. Jean-Jacques Leroy is in the lead with 76.25 points, but only by a measly .05 points over Yuuri Katsuki, who’s jumped into second place.”_

_“And here’s where it gets really interesting. In third place is Yuri Plisetsky with a score of 75.55, about three quarters of a point behind the leaders. Except Horizontal Bar is Plisetsky’s strongest event. You have to be wondering whether or not Yuuri Katsuki’s just hoping he can make it through this rotation without a fall: that’s how his Tokyo games started off, if you remember, back in 2012 …”_

_“Terrible, what happened then. He never really got back on track, either, except in individual floor. This is Plisetsky’s moment, though. What do you think, Jim? Can he do it?”_

_“Let’s find out. Here goes Plisetsky. This is probably the most stylish routine we’ll see on horizontal bar in this meet. Huge, laid out Kovacs, one more with a full twist — he corrected for a minor mistake he made in the individual event, where his arms got a little bent and he had to improvise on his grip. Much better coming through the combination skills now. And here comes the discount, he made a small jump in the individual finals — stuck it. Evidently someone told Yuri Plisetsky that these are the Olympics!”_

_“Couldn’t have landed that any better if you’d glued him to the floor, Jim.”_

_“16.100! He’s completely passed his previous high score on this event. Now here comes Katsuki, it’s his turn to respond.”_

_I can’t take this. All this waiting._ Yuri sat on the ground and put his hoodie back on, drawing it up and over his head to filter out the sounds and sights of the crowd. He watched Katsuki’s routine in stony silence, distracting himself by thinking through every twist and jump. Time spent in Moscow had given him that; had even given Yuuri a thing or two; a better Cassina, for one thing.

But it wasn’t enough to catch up, and something fluttered in his stomach, made his pulse race in his ears.

_“A 15.3 for Katsuki puts him just over one tenth of a point behind Plisetsky for the first time all meet. What a race this has been, Bob. An unbelievable finish. Here we are with Jean-Jacques Leroy, Canada’s hometown hero, waiting with baited breath to see if he’ll be able to take home gold…”_

Yuuri sat next to him now. Yakov leaned against the wall, little more than a long and silent shadow.

_“Big jump on the landing. You know, it was a solid routine, but I’m just not sure it’ll be enough … the scores are in! Yuri Plisetsky of Russia has won the men’s individual All-Around. Yuuri Katsuki of Japan takes home the silver, and Jean-Jacques Leroy finishes third. In what has got to be one of the closest races of all time, only five-tenths of a point separates these three incredible athletes …”_

Something strange and foreign and wet was pouring down his cheeks and Katsuki, Viktor’s idiot fiancee, the one with the heart that was four sizes too big, was hugging him:

_I’m proud of you, Yuri._

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **Jjleroy!15** well it ain’t gold but it’ll do i guess. #vancouver thank you for still giving me that standing ovation  
_yuri-plisetsky, katsuki-don, phichit+chu and 789 others like this._

 

 **otabek-altin** now they’ll call him the hero of moscow @yuri-plisetsky #vancouver2016  
_yuri-plisetsky, v-nikiforov, katsuki-don and 157 others like this._

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** this is my grandpa who @v-nikiforov flew out here  
_v-nikiforov, katsuki-don, otabek-altin and 158 others like this._

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** and this is my grandpa who @v-nikiforov flew out here, wearing the gold medal i would never have been able to win without him #vancouver2016  
_v-nikiforov, katsuki-don, otabek-altin and 195 others like this._  
> katsuki-don inventor of the katsudon pirozhki!  
> yuri-plisetsky seriously  
> katsuki-don what? it’s so good .___.

 

_\- - -_

 

_August 4, 2016_

 

**Men’s Team Finals**

 

_“We’re almost finished with the last event of the men’s gymnastics meet here in Vancouver and this is turning about to be every bit as thrilling of a contest as the men’s all-around just three nights ago.”_

_“Agreed, Bob. It’s really a four-way race at this point between the United States, Canada, Japan, and Russia. In an almost complete reversal of the All-Around, Russia started the meet on their best event, the high bar, and so they took off with an early lead, and held onto it through parallel bars and vault, but the door began to open up for Japan as they came through their weaker events on pommel horse. They’re finishing this last rotation on rings and there’s certainly an opportunity for another team to pass them by.”_

_“The United States has put on solid, mid-pack performances in all the rotations this evening, led largely by Leo de la Iglesia. The former Michigan Captain has the advantage of finishing on parallel bars, which is certainly one of his stronger events. Canada, currently in second with just a sliver of a lead over Japan is also moving onto one of their weaker events: none of their gymnasts finished in the top five on individual high bar, just a few days back.”_

_“The real storyline here is that Team Japan looks to finish its rotation on Floor. Yuuri Katsuki anchors their rotation on Floor and by the time it’s his turn, the whole world will be watching with baited breath …”_

_Yuuri,_ thought Viktor, thought Mari and Hiroko and Toshiya, Yuuko and Takeshi, watching at home; Celestino, eyeing the floor from across the arena, when not keeping a stern eye on the American team; thought Christophe, watching from the stands with Phichit; thought dozens of others who’d learned who he was and what he was capable of: _I know you can do it._

_“He came in second just barely behind Russia’s Yuri Plisetsky in the individual All-Around, but in his interviews Katsuki has stated that the Team Final is actually more important to him.”_

_“Curious. Did he explain why?”_

_“He said that in the Team Final, every gymnast still has to walk up to the apparatus and compete alone, but that they carry each other’s strengths and weaknesses around through the meet, their hopes and fears. He said that the Team Final is a dream shared by four bodies and a collective heart.”_

_“Well, we’re about to find out whether or not his dreams will come true — here he goes!”_

Half-front half. Air flares. The Japanese wide-armed handstand.

_“What’s always so impressive about him, what I love watching — it’s not just the tumbling, which he’s known for, it’s the way he gets so much bonus from all the non-tumbling elements. A lot of other gymnasts neglect those parts of their skillset. Here comes the dismount, it’s a triple full —“_

Kenjirou Minami tackled him to the floor, screaming something about _we did it, Yuuri, we’ve won!_

 

\- - -

 

_August 29, 2016_

 

**[Instagram]**

**christophe-gc** in seattle to accept #hrc’s #visibilityaward with these handsome gentlemen @phichit+chu @v-nikiforov @katsuki-don  
_yuri-plisetsky, phichit+chu, v-nikiforov, katsuki-don and 928 others like this._

 

“It was the kiss heard round the world.” Laughter greeted Christophe as he strode to the microphone first. “If we’re honest with ourselves, that’s why I’m standing in front of you now. Katsuki Yuuri secured the Team Gold medal for Japan and his first thought was _how can I kick my way up this ten foot wall to kiss my fiancee_ and it made front-page news all over the world. I know that’s how Viktor got the call. And then Viktor called me. _The Human Rights Campaign wants to give us an award,_ he said. _I told them I wasn’t coming up there without you.”_ He looked over his shoulder at Phichit, waiting to make a similar speech, grinned, unapologetically. _“_ I guess this is our life now, eh, Chulanont? Best-men third wheels? I’m partly convinced we’re only up here so that Viktor can make sure we look good in suits for his big day. Not that he should’ve ever doubted. Anyway, here we are. I’ve been on a lot of stages and I get to do a lot of cool things and this is probably the coolest. I have to be best man in a wedding everyone keeps asking about. That’ll be a close second.”

Behind him, Viktor chuckled and shook his head, and Christophe continued his speech in earnest. “I realized I was gay when I was eleven years old. I was at a junior gymnastics meet in Switzerland, and there was a boy there, I won’t use his name, four years older than me, and he was perfect. I don’t mean his scores were perfect. I don’t mean that I wanted to emulate him as an athlete or catch up to him as a gymnast. I mean that I looked at him and I saw something that I had no words to explain, no narrative for. It happened again. And again. And again. Flash forawrd a few years later and there was a boy I desperately wanted to kiss. When his parents found out, he broke it off, and a few weeks later he humiliated me in front of our whole school. _Giacometti the gymnast,_ he’d laughed: _Giacometti the gay._

It had been so easy for him to just walk away from the part of himself. Easy, too, the way he took away any agency I might’ve had about the choice I wanted to make in coming out. Everyone at school knew. Word spread in the local meets, and then the country ones, and then the international ones, and by the time I was a junior champion, I was _Christophe Giacometti, the gay Junior Champion._

I’m not sure why I decided to make sure it stuck so forcefully or so adamantly. Maybe because I never got to decide when that word was going to be used next to my name in the first place. I started my adult career as _Christophe Giacometti the gay gymnast._ I wish I could say my motives had been pure or altruistic, but growing up is hard, being a world-class international athlete is hard, and coming out is hard. People who know me might tell you that I tend not to do things unless I can do them really well. Eventually it stuck.

I am Christophe Giacometti, the gay gymnast.” He paused, acknowledging the applause from the audience. “I’ll tell you what gives me hope, though. Well, two things, really. First I’d be remiss not to acknowledge the support of my long-term partner, who proves every time he gets into a swimming pool with other top-notch athletes that homosexuality is not a thing that you _catch by exposure_ — but also — it’s my honor, in just a few moments here, to hand this microphone over to Phichit Chulanont, and I’ve never told him this but the difference between us is this: I never chose to be a public figure for this community when I was his age. It was thrust upon me and I coped until I learned to love it the way that I do now. What gives me hope is that the work people like you do to make the world a safer place for all of us has made the way for someone like Phichit to come into my sport, out on his own terms, and in his own time. Thank you again for the honor.”

 

Phichit took the microphone and unfolded a small speech from the inside of his jacket. “Wow,” he said, and whistled under his breath. “That’s an intro, huh? Here’s the paradox.” He looked through his notes for a minute, brow furrowed. “Christophe Giacometti introduces you on stage and says you give him hope because you came out all on your own in the middle of your career, and one of the reasons you felt so comfortable coming out in the middle of your career was because of Christophe Giacometti’s example …” He smiled a little bit at the next wave of laughter. “I know my totally normal looking name would never give this away, but I’m from Thailand, you guys. Bangkok! I participated in the Asian Games and the next thing I know this man in a ponytail is telling me about how I really ought to consider college in the United States, how he coaches in some place called Ann Arbor in Michigan, which I later learn is the state every American only remembers because they were taught as children that it looks like a mitten …”

 _Go blue!_ came a whistle from the crowd, and it sounded suspiciously like it might have belonged to Leo de la Iglesias.

“I get to Ann Arbor and I quietly enroll in a few LGBT clubs. I tell my roommate that I’m going to a few of them. My roommate is Katsuki Yuuri, who back then was just about the nicest, most awkward college freshman you could ever hope to meet. Before then, he was one of the nicest, most awkward gymnasts you could ever hope to meet, if you were competing around Asia, or in juniors, so we knew each other pretty well but not _this_ well. He looks at me dazed and wide-eyed, which was more common then, too: it’s another American phrase, _deer in headlights,_ and because there’s something about Yuuri that just kind of invites honesty I tell him that I’m gay, that I was hoping he’d come along with me so I’d have a friend there. I don’t tell him it’s partly because of the questions I’ve gotten from some well-intending but insensitive students, while trying to make new friends: _Bangkok, huh? I’ve always heard there’s a lot of prostitution there._ Or: _have you ever met a transvestite?_

I don’t tell him that it’s because I’m several thousand miles away from home and I just want to find something that feels like my people. I don’t tell him that everyone thinks Thailand is this sexually liberated place, and by some standards it is, good but not great maybe; that I came to America thinking maybe minds might be a little more open, that I kept running up against some of the same prejudices, the same misconceptions. That it was exhausting, having come so far, to land in the promised land of the West and still, one day, have to watch Viktor Nikiforov talk down a homophobe named Chad …

He comes with me. I don’t tell him how much it means to me, because Yuuri never believes it, how all those little gestures add up, doesn’t see or understand why so many people love him. It snows in the winter. And then it snows again. I’ve never been so cold in my life as I am in Ann Arbor, Michigan. But I find my home away from home in Campus Pride, and I leave every week warmed up from the inside out by the love and support of the community there, no matter how bitterly cold it got. Those kinds of groups are possible because of the work you all do. How, once you meet this community of people, can you not acknowledge them? Christophe, you said I came out all on my own, but the truth is I never really had to “come out.” I’ve been out from the beginning. I’ve just been lucky enough to be around people who’ve never made me feel like I’ve needed to lie. That’s remarkable, isn’t it? Think about it: when I was still a toddler, homosexuality in Thailand was considered a mental illness. When I enrolled in university, gay marriage wasn’t legal in the United States.

Sometimes as a professional athlete you hit a slump. You’ll go for months without a breakthrough. You’ll spend practice after practice after practice trying to make sure you don’t accidentally cross your legs during your vault, because it’s a tiny deduction and it might be the difference between first place and fourth. You get there, to that plateau, and you’re impatient because you never know when it’s going to come, the next big thing:

When that happens I always went back to watch videos of myself when I was little, turning bad cartwheels, making crooked handstands. There’s a lot of work still to be done but sometimes it’s worth celebrating how far we’ve come. My name is Phichit Chulanont, I’m a gold medal Olympian, and there’s a vault named after me now. People like me can get married in the United States now, but not in Thailand. That’s okay, though. I believe that change is going to come. When it does we won’t believe our eyes. It’ll be like the moment before I sprang off the pommel horse table, before Thailand had any medal count in gymnastics at all.

Next thing we know, we’ll have landed on our feet and the whole world will be different.

It’s an honor to be up here. An honor to get to share in the glory of the three people I’m being recognized with tonight. An honor to hand over this space on the podium to Viktor Nikiforov, who is now hopefully satisfied that Christophe and I will both do a passably decent job at giving our best man speeches when he marries my best friend and my very first ally.”

 

Viktor took the microphone, and turned back for a moment to look in moved silence back at Christophe, who had one arm slung around Phichit, and at Yuuri, who’d shoved his hands into his pockets, probably to hide the nervous twitch of his fingers. Phichit reached out, and planted his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders, anchoring him in some way back to the ground, and when Yuuri finally looked up at Viktor it was with shining, soft eyes. “… when my agent called me,” Viktor murmured carefully, slowly turning back to the attendees of the gala, “I did not feel particularly deserving of this honor.” He smiled a little bit ruefully. “As a child my mother and father disagreed so strongly over what activities were appropriate for a young boy, a Nikiforov, no less, that their arguments intensified and eventually ended in divorce. _I’m not going to raise a sissy,_ he said to my mother, who’d left her career as a prima ballerina to come be the beautiful thing trapped in his house, and he walked away from us both, remarried someone else.

In a way it taught me not to count very much on love. My mother went on to choreograph, to teach dance, and for my whole young life it was just the two of us really. With only her to watch I modeled myself in her image. My mother loved to dance. So I learned what it meant to love to dance. She took me ice skating in St. Petersburg and I learned what it meant to love the ice. These things became the great loves of my life: my mother, dancing, ice skating. Other people came in and out of my life, some of them interesting, some of them surprising, and I’m sorry to say I don’t think I ever gave any of them the same chance to bloom. My attention wavered. What little passion I reserved for anything that wasn’t figure skating waxed and waned and it always found a new target: a woman with very green eyes, a man with dimples on only one side of his face when he smiled.

Christophe, who has been my friend for a while, was livid when he found out about the latter: _you’re one of Russia’s most celebrated athletes, Viktor. You have to say something. There are kids who will look up to your example, who will know they’re not alone if you’ll just …_ But I couldn’t do it. I never did it. I looked at the career I’d spent so much time crafting, my own mythology: living-legend Viktor Nikiforov … and the idea that some stranger, somewhere, would find the strength to live out their own life because I torched mine in the public, it never resonated.

Then I met Yuuri Katsuki. My friends geared up for the same old habits. Someone new, someone interesting, someone to occupy Viktor’s incredibly short-lived attention span.” He smiled wryly, laid a hand on the podium. “Yuuri Katsuki burrows. He has a way of climbing under your skin so slowly and so steadily that you don’t even notice it happening, until one day it becomes very difficult to imagine not having him around. Yuuri Katsuki is the man who went with his Thai roommate to those Campus Pride meetings all those years ago in the midst of his own bewilderment over sexual orientation and identity because Phichit asked him to. Yuuri Katsuki is the person who enrolls in Russian classes at his University on the off chance that someday he might speak to you in the language you were born into, the man who notices you’re not wearing gloves in the kiss and cry and sends you a pair to keep your hands warm. Yuuri Katsuki is the Olympian who changed coaches just one year before the Vancouver Olympics, packed up his things and moved to another country so he could support me through the hardest year of my career. At the Olympics, you watched him encourage Kenjirou Minami to new heights; you saw him remind Jean-Jacques Leroy that his whole nation was rooting for him to get back onto his feet. You saw him celebrate with Yuri Plisetsky when Yuri beat him and took home an unexpected gold. And you saw him guide Team Japan to a gold medal, watched him rush up the wall, and kiss me.”

Viktor waited over the cresting applause, and then he had this to say: “In Toronto, when video of the two of us made it out to the public, Katsuki Yuuri was the man who was willing to take all of the public outrage of that moment onto his own shoulders, to say it was all his fault to save that career I’d mentioned working so hard to build up. He was willing, insistent even, that I could go back to pretending, to mold myself into the image that’s most acceptable to the Russian mainstream. And here is where things changed, and changed forever: because once you know someone that well, once you see them that deeply, how could you ever, selfishly, send them back into the darkness to live out a lie?

I know others still do. But I couldn’t. I got home and I wrote out the most honest thing I’d ever revealed about myself to the public, and I made a new promise: that I was done hiding. So now perhaps you see why I still think I’m not deserving of this honor, but I can tell you this: I will spend the rest of our days together making sure that I earn it. Thank you.”

He turned, and walked back to Yuuri, who reached out for him, and stood there for a long moment, his arms twisted under Viktor’s jacket, fingers burrowing into the skater’s back. Viktor leaned forward, and kissed his forehead, and then Yuuri swallowed and walked up the podium.

“… Hey everyone,” he murmured nervously. “I’m Yuuri Katsuki. And I — I wrote a speech, but I’m not going to use it. Um, instead, I think I’ll tell you that in the summer of 2012, after messing up in pretty much every event except for the one I usually don’t mess up in, I met Viktor Nikiforov in the stretch of days between qualifiers and event finals.” He turned slightly, angling his body away from the podium so that he could look back at Viktor, study him, draw on that unending reserve of newfound strength. “Convinced that I’d ruined basically everything about the Tokyo Olympics, I made plans to retire after that competition except that this man asked me a strange question: _Can you believe that I can believe that you can win tomorrow?_ he asked. And if you’ve met Viktor Nikiforov you know that it’s very hard to turn aside his belief in anything; it’s a cutting force, driving, it’s the blade of his skates, propelling him forward into history …

… Anyway, I told him I could believe it, but that he was crazy. And then this man showed up, and even though he was sitting next to Christophe’s friends and family, he unfurled the most ridiculous sign: _BELIEVE,_ it said, and to be honest, I don’t remember anything at all about what happened next, only that somehow I got back up after that devastating fall and dragged myself back onto the podium, and that before the whole thing was over, Viktor Nikiforov, who believed in me, had accepted the torch for St. Petersburg and sent me a message asking me to come watch him skate in St. Petersburg. Viktor sent my sister to Michigan with my dog, Viktor showed up at Pacific Rim, and after the controversy with the NCAA Championships, where some people said that Phichit and I, we shouldn’t have been able to compete, Viktor told the whole world that the real spirit of sports is love, and that anyone who doesn’t understand that is making a terrible mistake.”

At the small burst of applause, Yuuri smiled somewhat, and his drift away from the crowd solidified further, until only an elbow rested on the podium, his body perpendicular to the tables of gala guests. “Love. It wasn’t that I had gone through life not knowing it. I had just gone through life not understanding it, not seeing the support of my family or the adoration of my fans. And because I had never been very attracted or interested in anyone, I assumed that I’d probably go for most of my life without it. Phichit thinks it was brave of me to come to those meetings, but what danger was there in them for me? I, who’d never been honestly attracted to a man or a woman for my whole life: I could go into those spaces straight and aloof and leave them straight and aloof, essentially unmarred by my visit.

Then I got to St. Petersburg, and … and … well, I started to realize what it was really like, because wherever I went in public with Viktor I always went with Christophe, in a group, arranged in such a way that nobody would ask questions about Viktor or suspect he was in violation of Russia’s infamous propaganda law on the world’s biggest stage. _This is okay,_ I thought back then. _We have each other. We’ll be discreet._ Like love should ever have to hide from hate.

Then Toronto happened and it wasn’t possible to hide anymore. Then Rio. Then Vancouver. Here’s what I think about it now, about love and about hate.” Yuuri unbuttoned his suit jacket, and reached for an inside pocket, took out two gold medals, and held them up to the light. Vancouver and St. Petersburg. “When I was in Tokyo I competed from a place of fear. I was certain that I was a fraud, nowhere near as good as anyone said, terrified that I’d let everyone down and in a way that’s exactly what happened. In Vancouver I competed from a place of hope, because whatever anxiety told me about myself, Viktor and my friends and my family all had something else to say. I think sometimes we hide because we think that hate and fear are stronger than love. Love seems so fragile, so delicate, so tenuous. How could it possibly hold up? That kiss, the one I guess I got invited here to celebrate because it was all over the news later, made the papers in dozens of countries … if it inspires someone to love who they love in whatever way they love them, that’s good and I’m glad. If it changes locker room culture and keeps kids who would’ve quit because they didn’t want to be exposed to jeers and derision engaged in their craft for longer, we’ll have better athletes, and better sports, and that makes me glad too. Not glad just because they don’t have to hide, not glad just because they decide to face their fears. Glad because it shows what love really is. It’s the most powerful force on earth. Viktor told me once to show him the gymnastics I could honestly say I liked best, said that was the only shortcut he knew to winning a gold medal. Love is the only shortcut I actually know.

It’s dangerous, though, that route. You win a gold medal by love and when you get there, standing on the podium with three of your friends, listening to your national anthem while your country’s flag descends: the medal won’t be important anymore. You see, you’ve got love. Love won. What else on earth could possibly matter?”

 

\- - -

 

_Flashback, August 4, 2016_

 

**Men’s Team Finals: Yuuri Katsuki on Floor**

 

_“The real storyline here is that Team Japan looks to finish its rotation on Floor. Yuuri Katsuki anchors their rotation on Floor and by the time it’s his turn, the whole world will be watching with baited breath …”_

_Yuuri,_ thought Viktor, thought Mari and Hiroko and Toshiya, Yuuko and Takeshi, watching at home; Celestino, eyeing the floor from across the arena, when not keeping a stern eye on the American team; thought Christophe, watching from the stands with Phichit; thought dozens of others who’d learned who he was and what he was capable of: _I know you can do it._

_“He came in second just barely behind Russia’s Yuri Plisetsky in the individual All-Around, but in his interviews Katsuki has stated that the Team Final is actually more important to him.”_

_“Curious. Did he explain why?”_

_“He said that in the Team Final, every gymnast still has to walk up to the apparatus and compete alone, but that they carry each other’s strengths and weaknesses around through the meet, their hopes and fears. He said that the Team Final is a dream shared by four bodies and a collective heart.”_

_“Well, we’re about to find out whether or not his dreams will come true — here he goes!”_

Half-front half. Air flares. The Japanese wide-armed handstand.

_“What’s always so impressive about him, what I love watching — it’s not just the tumbling, which he’s known for, it’s the way he gets so much bonus from all the non-tumbling elements. A lot of other gymnasts neglect those parts of their skillset. Here comes the dismount, it’s a triple full —“_

Kenjirou Minami tackled him to the floor, screaming something about _we did it, Yuuri, we’ve won!_

He had just one mind, though. Viktor Nikiforov had spent an outrageous amount of money to be sitting in the front row, overlooking the Floor, and so Yuuri wiggled his way out from among his teammates, and raced towards the bench: stomped on it and kicked up the wall towards the rail:

_“What on earth has gotten into Yuuri Katsuki?”_

World television be damned: Viktor Nikiforov was in a narrow black tie, and Yuuri snatched it, yanked him forward, and took incredible pleasure in the instantaneous widening and then narrowing of the Russian’s impossibly blue eyes. Viktor’s laugh, Viktor’s delighted murmur, these things were better than victory itself.

“You always surprise me, Katsuki Yuuri.”

“Kiss me again, Viktor Nikiforov.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Viktor’s email address is definitely still some teenager sleeping beauty “playing the fairy who cast the spell that allowed true love’s kiss” shit. I couldn’t not. But also, meta. Anyway. Some routines I watched to write this chapter, which helped me remember a few of my favorite gymnasts of the 2016 games:
> 
> Inspiration for Yuuri’s floor routine: http://www.nbcolympics.com/video/gymnast-max-whitlock-wins-gold-medal-olympic-floor-final  
> Christophe pommel: http://www.nbcolympics.com/video/pommel-horse-final-max-whitlock-secures-gold-medal  
> Otabek on Rings: http://www.nbcolympics.com/video/eleftherios-petrounias-wins-still-rings-gold-rio-olympics  
> Phichit’s vault is inspired by the Shirai: http://www.nbcolympics.com/video/mens-vault-final-kenzo-shirai-pioneers-35-twisting-vault  
> Minami on high bar: http://www.nbcolympics.com/video/germanys-fabian-hambuechen-earns-high-horizontal-bar-score  
> Yuri on high bar: http://www.nbcolympics.com/video/danell-leyva-wins-silver-stylish-high-bar-routine  
> JJ on Vault: http://www.nbcolympics.com/video/mens-vault-final-ri-se-gwang-secures-gold-olympic-debut  
> Seung-gil on parallel bars: http://www.nbcolympics.com/video/oleg-verniaiev-crushes-parallel-bars-routine-all-around
> 
> Also that kiss moment = totally inspired by this: http://edition.cnn.com/2015/07/06/football/womens-world-cup-abby-wambach-wife-kiss/


	6. The PyeongChang 2018 Winter Olympics: Hearts on Fire

_September 14, 2016_

It was beginning to become clear to Viktor Nikiforov that something was up. For one thing, Yuuri Katsuki was an absolutely terrible liar, but for another, the taxi cab that he, Makkachin, and his suitcases had been stuffed into was winding closer to Hasetsu’s castle than he remembered the onsen being. Hasetsu Castle stood so large on the city landscape that it had been the one thing he oriented himself to, these past few years, on his visits. At first Viktor decided he was too jetlagged to care but curiosity had a way of eating at him, even if the steady trickle of Yuuri’s fingers through his hair was threatening to put him to sleep. “We’re not going to Yu-topia?”

“Oh! Um. I promised Mari we’d pick her up at her new place,” Yuuri murmured, and Viktor didn’t even have to look up to know that, too, was a lie. “Before dinner.”

Viktor smiled to himself, decided to let the surprise play out. “Sou ka?” It was embarrassing, how much better Yuuri’s Russian was than his Japanese. Christophe had pointed it out once, asked whether or not Viktor’s competitive spirit could stand for such a travesty. Then Yuri had piled on: _yeah, Viktor. You suck._ So here he was, stretched out on the backseat of a cab unapologetically using Katsuki Yuuri as a pillow, _practicing._

It had been so long since he’d been a beginner at something.

In all fairness, Makkachin was using them both.

“Um, Viktor.” Yuuri squirmed, reaching into his pockets, and he pulled out a bandana and held it up, cheeks flushed red. The taxi was slowing down, starting to make neater turns off of the main roads and into one of Hasetsu’s neighborhoods: “I uh. Need to put this on you.”

“You’re going to blindfold me?” Viktor asked, mock-affronted. “Yuuri, I thought we were going to pick up your sister.”

“Just put it on. You like surprises.”

Viktor sat up, rearranging the dog first and then himself, leaning in to Yuuri’s softness and warmth. “You put it on,” he crooned, smirky and satisfied at the deepening blush on his fiancee’s face, the way Yuuri’s dark eyes darted to look towards their driver. _Delicious._ He closed his eyes in sweet submission, waiting.

He didn’t mind the bump he got on his head, stepping out of the taxi, laughed off Yuuri’s too-frequent apologies, and let himself be blindly guided up the curb and stopped in the darkness while Yuuri fumbled with keys. “Kick your shoes off,” he murmured, which told Viktor that they were in a house of some sort. Everything Yuuri did was a diary; there were always little hints. “Okay, careful, we’re in a hallway and it’s a little bit narrow, this way —” Yuuri’s hands, surprisingly strong and so, so gentle, guiding Viktor by his shoulders. Then he felt Yuuri slip around him, brushing past his right shoulder, and then reaching past him to untie the blindfold.

Viktor blinked to adjust to the late-afternoon sunlight, trickling in from the window. He was standing barefoot in a small living room, somewhat sparsely decorated, boxes lined up against the wall. What had been set up was a television on a cabinet across from the couch, and because the stand itself was long and low it was dotted with pictures he recognized: Yuuri and Seven, each kissing one of his cheeks on a cold day in Moscow. Skating with Yuri Plisetsky. Standing in his suit and tie on a stage in front of a blue curtain with Christophe, Yuuri, and Phichit. “Mari said I couldn’t unpack everything you sent,” Yuuri murmured as Viktor walked forward, picking up a picture he remembered Mari taking at the Vancouver Olympics from the stands as he sat with the Katsuki family to root for the son he intended to keep _forever._ “She says it’s not your house if you don’t do some work on it.”

“My house?”

“Well. I mean. It’s rented, so I guess technically it’s someone else’s house, and I know we were going to look after you got here but Takeshi heard about this place and it’s close to the rink and so everybody thought it would be perfect —“ It was a whole flurry of words, all over-rushed and breathed in the span of one exhale. Viktor turned and fixed his gaze on Katsuki Yuuri, nervous, toeing at the floor like it was the ice and his whole purpose was to dig a new divot with a pick, waited patiently for the gymnast to meet his eyes.“Besides,” Yuuri muttered. “Seven says you have to learn about housework and it’ll be good for you. What do you think?”

“I think,” Viktor said, patting Makkachin on the head as he set the picture down. It begged the question: where was Vicchan? Another mystery, one he’d get to work on uncovering soon. “I think that I love it. Show me around _our_ house, Yuuri.”

So Yuuri did: the kitchen, he explained, which he _had_ unpacked because there was _no_ trusting Viktor Nikiforov in a kitchen, his St. Petersburg apartment had been proof enough of that. The house was narrow; Viktor had learned Japanese houses tended to be small, efficient spaces, that they only kept the things that were the most useful or gave them the most joy. “There’s two bedrooms upstairs,” Yuuri explained next, and he took hold of Viktor’s hand to walk with him there, bumping clumsily against the first step as he led the way with a _thunk_ that was answered by a familiar bark and a sudden _shhh_ that was telling.

His heart swelled at the top of the landing, the sudden cheers of _SURPRISE!_ and the assembled crowd of Yuuri’s friends from home, his parents, his sister.

 _His new family_ , Viktor realized with a start, moved. His new family _was_ Yuuri’s family.

“Welcome home, Viktor.”

 

\- - -

 

**[Instagram]**

**madonna-yuuko** except for the part where i had to drag my husband home because @v-nikiforov drank him under a table, that was the best housewarming party ever  
_v-nikiforov, takeshi-kun, katsuki-don, seven-nik, mari-chan and 52 others like this._  
> takeshi-kun BEST TWO OUT OF THREE NIKIFOROV  
> takeshi-kun I WILL DEFEAT YOU

 

 **minakodeladanse** i got to see @v-nikiforov’s mother perform once; tonight i got to tell him how special it was and how much i’m looking forward to having him visit the studio  
_v-nikiforov, katsuki-don, seven-nik and 28 others like this._

 

\- - -

 

“Looks like he’s all settled, then,” Yuri Plisetsky muttered to Svetlana Nikiforov, walking through campus in Moscow together. He’d gotten to know Seven in St. Petersburg, helping Viktor pack, in preparation for the move to Japan. That had been an exercise in learning about how much of a packrat Viktor Nikiforov actually was: though his barely-lived in condo gave the impression of emptiness and space, its closets had been stuffed to the brim with old team jackets, trophies, all the excess memoirs of his life and his career, and: many of his mother’s possessions, too, still in boxes that Vitya had been too afraid or too unwilling to deal with.

Seven, as it turned out, gave as good as she got, and she had good taste in fashion, including a cat tattoo on her ankle that made her ace in Yuri’s book. She’d been unforgiving in forcing her brother to finally address this aspect of his life. Viktor had even pawned some of his things off to Yuri — a Russia jacket from his first games, too small for him now, for instance. _What makes you think I want your old junk, Vitya?_

_Well, fine, I guess it’ll go in Seven’s garbage pile._

_Shut up, I’ll take it._

“Are you going to miss him?” Seven asked idly. Nikiforovs: you couldn’t trust them. Just like her brother, Seven liked to crack people open, whip around their insides, and worse, she was getting trained to be a fucking professional in it.

“I’m not even going to justify that with a response,” Yuri deadpanned, though he punched a like into his phone and pocketed it in the depths of the red jacket. Wearing it almost made it seem like Viktor was here with them, walking around Moscow.

“When are you moving?”

It hadn’t just been the jacket, though. _Yurotchka, I need a favor._ Viktor, when he was suddenly serious and unsmiling, was always a danger. _… My mother’s house. I can’t bring myself to sell it. But I … I don’t want it to be empty, and …_

“A few weeks. Grandpa is tying some things off at work. He says he’s going to retire but give it a few months and he’ll be making Pirozkhi, I swear …” Retirement, for Nikolai Plisetsky, after a whole life of working entirely too hard just so that Yuri Plisetsky might have a better shot. Now Yuri Plisetsky was giving him a _house,_ because Viktor Nikiforov had given _him_ a house, and the whole world was too beautiful and too strange to consider for any actual length of time. Because if he did, it was probably going to do something like prove Katsuki Yuuri right about love and love’s place in the world, and that would be almost fucking intolerable.

He’d had to go home, after that conversation with Viktor, and thinking about it still made him smile subtly: _Grandpa, what do you think about maybe living in St. Petersburg?_

The jacket, the house. _Besides,_ Viktor said, _then I know I’ll have a place to stay when I come back to visit._ All little promises that he wasn’t going to be gone for long.

 _Idiot,_ grumbled Yuri, jerking his chin up even as he fought to hide the fondness of his smile, _who says I’ll let you stay in *my* house?_

 

_\- - -_

 

**[Seven’s Instagram]**

 

_mari-chan has followed you!_

**mari-chan  
** you’re viktor’s sister yes?

 **seven-nik  
** yes!

 **mari-chan  
** i have some questions

 **mari-chan  
** about russian weddings

 

\- - -

 

_November 13, 2016_

 

**[Instagram]**

 

 **phichit+chu** just touched down in #narita for #viktuuri’s big wedding week~ (°◡°♡).:。  
_katsuki-don, mari-chan, v-nikiforov, and 131 others like this._  
> lovelifeleo viktuuri?  
> phichit+chu i have named this ship  
> phichit+chu it is a good ship  
> phichit+chu (♥ω♥ ) ~♪

 

\- - -

 

_November 14, 2016_

 

“I feel a little bit like I’m in a dress,” Yuri Plisetsky whispered, turning slowly in front of a mirror to evaluate the loose drape of the hakama and haori he’d been fitted with. Even Leo de la Iglesia seemed a little bit sympathetic, trying to adjust the drape of his jacket so that it fit a little more closely over his shoulders, which was just _never_ going to happen: it wasn’t, after all, a western jacket with a button for that purpose. Phichit and Christophe, by comparison, were enjoying themselves far _too_ much, busily snapping selfies, and on the other side of the store, Svetlana and Mari were looking at women’s options and chatting away like they’d known each other for months instead of just a single day.

“You’ve just got to own it, Yurotchka,” Christophe chimed in, and he swept up next to Yuri to snap a fresh photo. “Wear it like you mean it!”

Yuuri Katsuki shook his head with a mild chuckle and it re-centered Yuri’s attention on the Japanese gymnast, the source of all his present suffering. “How come you’re not getting fit for this shit, pork cutlet?”

“He’s already got his,” Viktor said. “Me too.”

“Almost,” Mari chimed in, bringing Seven back with her arms full of floral fabric. “You’ve almost got yours.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Yuuri’s mom took the jacket back a couple days ago. Said she found some problem with it.” Hiroko Katsuki was about as good at secrets as her son was. Oh, well. Another surprise to look forward to. “Are you done voguing in that thing, Yurotchka? We still have to go pick up the suits.”

Yuri Plisetsky groaned, shrugging out of the haori, though he was quick to catch it and offer it back to the store attendant who’d been helping all of them figure out the rather complicated manner of dress. Suits. Of course. They had to go get fitted for suits. “Viktor, I really hate you sometimes.”

It was always laughter that answered him back; laughter and Viktor’s heart-shaped smile. “I know.”

 

\- - -

 

_November 16, 2016_

The Japanese countryside rolled on at terrifically high speeds, a whole blur of countryside. The car of the train was packed: though it might’ve been easier to arrive in Kyoto directly, plenty of people had made a different decision, deciding instead to travel with the family by train from Hasetsu. It made the fifth car of the train a particularly chaotic and vibrant place to be.

Viktor looked upon the antics of several of the gymnasts with a bemused smile: Minami and Plisetsky were arguing about something already, and Otabek Altin was working to prove that he could hold himself up by putting his hands on the back of the chairs and keeping his balance in an extended cross there as they raced through the countryside. It was not his idea, originally: Jean-Jacques Leroy had been busily challenging everyone to feats of acrobatics on various parts of the train, and had been documenting them with equal enthusiasm while Isabella Leroy looked on from nearby, offering a tolerant smile for her husband’s antics.

It was, Viktor supposed, the very essence of what made Jean-Jacques … _JJ._

Seung-gil Lee seemed to be in the process of teaching Phichit Chulanont how to play chess; Phichit was in the process of getting bad advice interchangeably from both Leo de la Iglesia and Guang Hong Ji on what he needed to do next. “No, no, no.” Nikolai Plisetsky stormed over to the chess table, and pointed at Leo and Guang Hong. “Horrible advice,” he said, in strongly accented English. “Move over. I will show you.” Christophe was pretending to be asleep in his chair, leaning against Etienne with a beauty mask pulled over his eyes, except every so often he tugged it up, took out his phone, snapped another photo when he thought nobody was looking. Now was one of those moments and he offered Viktor a brief smirk before turning onto his side, throwing an arm over the swimmer’s waist, and settling back down for the trip.

Svetlana had tucked herself in with the Katsukis, chatting up a storm with Mari and Yuuri’s old dance teacher, a woman whom Viktor was beginning to regard with an increasing amount of respect. Nearby, Takeshi Nishigori had forced his wife to take a seat, rather than participate in JJ’s outlandish challenges. Yuuko’s eyes still sparked with challenge, until he laid a hand on her stomach, its subtle swelling too prominent to hide now.

Yuuri bumped into him from behind, nosing into Viktor’s shoulders, throwing his arms around Viktor’s waist. “Whatcha’ doin’?”

Viktor opened his mouth to try to explain it, the rolling perfection of this single train car, the way he didn’t want any of it to ever end, but Jean-Jacques Leroy turned suddenly, and pointed firmly in Yuuri’s direction, in a tone that boded for no argument and no resistance.

“Your turn, Katsuki! Show us _Yuuri-style_!”

 

\- - -

 

_November 17, 2017_

At the rehearsal dinner it was Katsuki Toshiya who first rang a metal chopstick against his glass, standing up for a moment to draw the attention of their guests. “We have a special gift tonight for Viktor,” he explained, near the end of his toast, though it was Hiroko who turned to receive a package from their waiter, and who turned to present it to the figure skater. Viktor smiled softly, aware of the way Yuuri was studying him as he carefully picked apart the wrapping, and unfolded tissue paper.

Inside was the haori he’d gone and gotten fit with, the week before, but now he recognized small circles near the shoulders, similar to what he’d seen on Yuuri’s, before. Viktor ran a finger over the delicate white embroidery, and looked up, curiosity alive in his eyes.

“They’re called _mon,_ ” Mari explained. “Most families have one.”

“Viktor,” Yuuri said, so fondly: “that’s our family crest.”

“It seemed the most appropriate,” concluded Toshiya with one of his benevolent smiles, and not for the first time did Viktor see the resemblance between father and son. “Today I have one son. Tomorrow I will have two.”

 

\- - -

 

_November 18, 2017_

Viktor Nikiforov was _nervous._ Christophe Giacometti had never recognized this fact with more delight, sitting in the hotel lobby in his traditional attire. Yuri Plisetsky had a different reaction: he kept insisting Viktor stop pacing, sit down. Svetlana Nikiforov looked wholly unconcerned, turning sometimes to take a new selfie in her kimono, admiring the complicated hairdo Mari Katsuki had helped her with.

“Viktor, sit down, for fuck’s sake.”

Viktor turned in his pacing and came to a halt directly in front of Christophe and Yuri. “Do you know what’s taking them so long?” He demanded.

Christophe’s eyes darted to Seven’s for a moment and he resisted the urge to grin. His lips might have twitched in response. _Yes._ Instead of offering an answer, he shrugged and stood up. “Might as well go find out. Come on, Yurotchka.”

“Huh?” The blonde looked up, and unfolded his arms. He’d discovered one use for haori sleeves: he could tuck his hands into them, almost like a hoodie. “Oh, right.”

“What room was it again, Seven?”

“I think it’s 401,” Seven murmured, tucking her phone into her obi before walking carefully forward, conscious of the sweep of the skirt and the click of her sandals. Christophe tapped the elevator call button, then folded his hands behind his back. “Come on, Vitya. Let’s go check it out.”

Upstairs, it was Viktor who knocked on the door, and Mari Katsuki whose voice sounded on the other side. “Who is it?”

“It’s Viktor. I was just …”

“Just freaking out that you might be late,” Christophe said, cheerfully, recording the entire thing from behind his phone. Viktor shot him a sidelong look, suspicious. “Any chance you’re going to let his fiancee out of that room to come get married any time soon?”

“Married,” Mari murmured slowly. “Huh. What do you think, Dad?”

“I think we’d probably have to be paid a ransom for that,” said Katsuki Toshiya.

“A ransom?” Viktor echoed, surprised, and then suddenly his eyes narrowed. _Ransom_ was a Russian tradition; the groom brought gifts to the bride’s family in order to secure her hand for the big day. He’d never mentioned it to Yuuri, because Yuuri wasn’t a bride, because they were about to go and drink sake in the Japanese tradition, not the Western one. “… How very … Russian,” he murmured, casting a glance back at his sister, whose smirk was very nearly a perfect mirror of his own. Christophe waved his phone for a moment, catching in perfect frame Viktor’s delighted, mischievous grin and the determined narrowing of his eyes. Then he leaned forward, cupping his hands on the door:

“Hang on, Yuuri! I’ll be right back.”

“You better be,” Yuuri shouted in return, but by the sound of things, he was laughing, and might’ve been in on the joke.

Viktor turned and pointed at Seven and Yuri, both attempting and failing to be the picture of innocence. “Both of you are coming with me,” he said, walking purposefully back to the elevator.

“Can’t imagine why.”

Downstairs, Viktor stalked up to the concierge. “I need a taxi,” he said, insistently. “I need a taxi to take me somewhere to buy champagne and chocolate.”

“The very best champagne,” Seven added. Even Yurotchka was grinning:

“And the very best chocolate.”

“Also jewelry,” Viktor informed the concierge. “For his evil sister.” He eyed Seven speculatively. “You’re delaying my wedding,” Viktor said, although delight still sparked in the deep blues of his eyes. “So you’re not getting any.”

 

\- - -

 

Kyoto had been Yuuri’s choice, and amidst the fire of the city’s changing leaves, Viktor could understand why. The trees in the garden surrounding Shunko-in temple were spectacular shades of red and orange, and the autumn sun sent shafts of light through the courtyard in golden, almost tangible stripes. It was at Shunko-in temple in Kyoto they partook of san san kudo, a Shinto tradition put on by a Buddhist monk. Mari had explained it to him once. Three sips from three cups. The first for the three families; next for three flaws; and finally for deliverance. While Yuuri’s parents drank of the sake when it was their turn to represent the joining of families, it was Svetlana Nikiforova and Yuri Plisetsky who drank for Viktor.

They made an offering together, and like that, with less far pomp or ceremony than any Russian orthodox service, Katsuki Yuuri was his husband.

There was still the matter of the reception back at the hotel, of the way _his husband_ had needed to swat his hands away while they changed into suits, stepped out with the wedding party to meet all of their guests. These cheers, from their friends, meant more to Viktor than anything from any Olympic ice he’d ever skated on, and so did the sudden onset of their _sisters,_ placing a crown of olive branches on each of their heads: Seven on Yuuri’s, with a kiss on his cheek, and Mari, doing much the same to Viktor. This, too, was nearly Russian: though they were never going to stand in a church with heavy orthodox crowns on their heads.

Anyway, hadn’t the original Olympic crowns been olive branches?

After dinner, Christophe stood up, holding up his flute of champagne. “It’s time for us to honor a wedding tradition from the west,” he said, with a devious grin. “I’ve been looking forward to this for _ages_. The best man’s roast. Sorry. I mean toast. Did I say roast? Anyway. I thought I’d get up here and tell you all about three times Viktor and Yuuri met. Good speeches always have three points, right?” He waved his hands, drumming up cheers from the guests, and then looked stepped up onto his chair, looking down at Viktor and Yuuri in their places at the main table. “Let’s start at the beginning: the night Viktor and Yuuri met.”

Phichit Chulanont nearly spit his drink out for laughing. Katsuki Yuuri groaned and folded his arms on the table, dropping his head down on the cross of his arms while Viktor pat his shoulder sympathetically. “Oh, _god.”_

“ … so anyway, here I am, outside the Olympic village in Tokyo sitting across from Viktor Nikiforov who definitely looks entirely too pensive to have had the kind of night I _told him to go have in my absence,_ ” ( _gross,_ chimed in Plisetsky, reaching for another glass of champagne). “So I get to work digging the story out of him. Evidently the night before he met _someone_ dancing up a storm in Shibuya, brought him back to his hotel, it’s so _scandalous, I know …”_ Yuuri’s cheeks were red as apples again and Christophe grinned, unrepentant. “They’re married now. It’s okay. Anyway evidently it wasn’t half so fun as it sounds. Viktor proceeds to tell me his guest unceremoniously passed out on the couch and then fled in the morning.”

Viktor nodded solemnly, laying a hand over his chest in good spirits, as though to insist that it had been one of the great tragedies of his life. “… and anyway, what are the odds that in Tokyo he’s ever going to see this _Yuuri_ again. Yuuri who was almost not certainly the only Yuuri I barely knew: mild-mannered and meek Katsuki Yuuri, the world’s nicest gymnast, but maybe also the most shy; certainly not someone I would’ve guessed had any interest in insisting an absolute stranger dance with him —“

Yuuri attempted to defend himself. “He had very pretty eyes.”

“Ah, yes, the eyes. We all know about the eyes.” Christophe laughed. “What I can’t get over, though, is how bothered Viktor is by this, because I can’t imagine anything about one evening that would reveal enough about a person to him that he’d still be sitting there aggravated by their departure. _Tell me you got a picture, at least,_ I say, half-joking, and half-not, and Viktor hands me his phone and shows me a photo of what is, no question about it, Katsuki Yuuri asleep on his couch. _That’s Katsuki Yuuri,_ I tell him. Don’t say I’ve never done anything nice for you, Viktor: I spelled his name for you so you could follow him on Instagram.” Christophe lifted his hand, his first finger raised. He added the second. “That was the first time Yuuri and Viktor met. Time for the second. Flash forward past a solid six months of chatting online, because that’s all these two nerds were doing, past Viktor making arrangements to get Yuuri’s dog into the United States for Valentine’s Day because he was that much of a lovesick fool. Something like nine or ten months of this behavior goes by, and in the new year Viktor starts bugging me: _I think I’m going to go with Yurotchka to Pacific Rim,_ he says. _Sure, great,_ I say, because the Russians are the only ones who go to Pacific Rim and then it dawns on me: _you’re going to see Katsuki. Admit it._ The next time I see Viktor, it’s in late Spring, and he’s telling me face to face about the drive he took through New Zealand, how he showed Yuuri Lake Wanaka. In all our years of friendship, I’m seeing something I’ve literally never seen before: Viktor Nikiforov, in actual, honest-to-God love.”

Christophe added the third finger. “Third story. Viktor is staying with Etienne and I in Geneva when he gets a call from doctors back in St. Petersburg. They tell him his mother’s on a steep decline, probably entering the last days of her battle with Alzheimers.” He gestured to a photo on a nearby table, Nadezhda Orlova, with Viktor’s eyes and a smile that was all elegance and grace. Her photo held a prominent place among several others, all of them photos of the friends and family being brought together by this event. “For a long time, for no fault of his own because of his studies at Michigan, Yuuri wasn’t the one who tended to jump on a plane and just go somewhere. It was mostly Viktor who did all the traveling, Viktor making the arrangements to be in unexpected places, making sure they kept collecting all these little moments we’re here to celebrate today. It was one of the things I thought was so incredible about the whole thing, the way Viktor Nikiforov, Russian figure skating hero, just kept quietly shuffling his schedule around just for the chance to have a stay-over in the same town as Katsuki Yuuri. I want to underscore this. I love you like a brother, Viktor, but you did not know how to really sacrifice for anyone until Yuri Plisetsky and Katsuki Yuuri fell into your life. It’s part of what has made these past four years so incredible: you were a good man to begin with, and now you’re a better one …”

He smiled, paused for a moment. “… A lot of you here are gymnasts or you know something about it because you’ve followed Yuuri’s career, but this news couldn’t have come at a worse time. The last thing anyone wants to do in the year leading up to the Olympics is move halfway around the world and change coaches, and Viktor and Yuuri had spent a fair amount of time debating their living arrangements following Yuuri’s graduation to Michigan. Not too many people know this, but Yuuri was going to stay with Celestino, spend another year in Michigan; Viktor was planning on training nearby. Told that Viktor would not be doing that, but instead returning to St. Petersburg for his mother’s final months, Katsuki Yuuri, who had every possible reason to stay in Michigan with the coach who’d helped him achieve such success made arrangements to move immediately. It sounds simple. It isn’t. A coach can make or break an Olympic athlete. Given the choice to stay where he was and keep pursuing his dream, or to put that dream on the line to be with Viktor during his darkest days, Katsuki Yuuri chose risk. I’m telling you about it now because I think it represents what literally nobody _but_ Viktor Nikiforov had ever seen with such clarity in Yuuri. Maybe his family. Maybe they knew. But _we_ didn’t. None of us knew that he would jump onto social media to insist he’d open himself up to prejudice and hatred again if it meant holding onto Viktor for just a moment longer, or that he’d leap up a wall to kiss his fiancee in front of millions of people watching around the world … I don’t even think Yuuri knew. So here’s what I have to say. A toast to Yuuri Katsuki, who, as it turns out, is strong enough not just to walk through fire, but come through it dancing; to Viktor, who saw the buried seed of that potential all those years ago and held onto it, watered it, nourished it, and now here we all are, standing under the branches of that tree and basking in its beauty.”

He smiled. “I’ve been told speeches like this one have to end with inspiring quotes, so raise your glasses; this is courtesy of the Persian poet, Hafez:

_And still, after all this time,_  
_The sun never says to the earth,  
_ _‘You owe Me.’_

_Look what happens with_  
_A love like that,  
_ _It lights the Whole Sky.”_

To Katsuki Yuuri and Viktor Nikiforov, who earlier today let us stand in their sun, and who tonight are including us in the shower and sparkle of all of the stars.” Cheers sounded and glasses clinked and then he leaned over with a deviant smirk, flashing a big wink in Yuuri’s direction. “Now kiss.”

Phichit stood next, holding up his own glass. “I flipped a coin with Christophe to figure out who was going to go first and lost,” he deadpanned, as Christophe jumped down from his chair. “Who wants to follow _that?_ I sat around for a long time trying to think of what stories I wanted to tell about these two, and then I realized that a lot of you probably already know. You’ve gotten to follow us and be with us and you’ve seen the way Yuuri’s changed because of Viktor and the way Viktor’s changed because of Yuuri for yourselves. You don’t need me to tell you all about it. Instead I’m going to do a reading for you, because I moonlight as an actor when I’m not moonlighting as a gymnast. Here it is, part of Richard Blanco’s poem, _Until We Could,_ which was written in 2014:

_I knew it then, in that room where we found_  
_for the first time our eyes, and everything—_  
_even the din and smoke of the city around us—_  
_disappeared, leaving us alone as if we stood_  
_the last two in the world left capable of love,_  
_or as if two mirrors face-to-face with no end  
_ _to the light our eyes could bend into infinity._

_…_

_Love is the right to say: I do and I do and I do..._

_and I do want us to see every tulip we’ve planted_  
_come up spring after spring, a hundred more years_  
_of dinners cooked over a shared glass of wine, and_  
_a thousand more movies in bed. I do until our eyes_  
_become voices speaking without speaking, until_  
_like a cloud meshed into a cloud, there’s no more_  
_you, me—our names useless. I do want you to be  
_ _the last face I see—your breath my last breath,_

_I do, I do and will and will for those who still can’t_  
_vow it yet, but know love’s exact reason as much_  
_as they know how a sail keeps the wind without_  
_breaking, or how roots dig a way into the earth,_  
_or how the stars open their eyes to the night, or_  
_how a vine becomes one with the wall it loves, or  
_ _how, when I hold you, you are rain in my hands.”_

 

Phichit stopped, took a breath. “To the newlyweds,” he said, then, and there was not a dry eye in the house. “I have one last obligation and responsibility to carry off tonight and it’s been something I’ve been working on with a mutual friend of Yuuri’s and mine for a long time. You see, Yuuri and Leo and I, we’ve got a lot of college friends who flew all this way to be with us tonight, and one of them is our friend Ketty Abelashvili. You may have noticed there’s a piano in this room. If you have, and you’re anything like me, you probably think that pianos were made for playing on. So I’m going to ask Ketty to come up and play an original composition she’s been working on, inspired by the love of our two friends here, for exactly this event, and I’m going to ask Viktor and Yuuri to step out onto the dance floor, and show us a thing or two about what a first dance is supposed to look like.”

It was beautiful, every twist and twine of the piece she played. It was gentle. It was bubbly. It was hope. It was love. It was Yuuri’s smile against his mouth when Viktor kissed him, the last chords evaporating like the last pinks and purples of a flawless, radiant dawn.

_how, when I hold you, you are rain in my hands._

Afterwards, when the music picked up, Toshiya Katsuki, loosening his tie, got a gleam in his eye that Viktor Nikiforov recognized _perfectly._ Yuuri had always protested that he took after his father when he got drunk; now it was time to witness that family exuberance first hand.

There was a lot of laughter. A lot of dancing. Too many gymnasts pulling handstands and cartwheels on the dance floor.

 _So this is it,_ thought Viktor Nikiforov, as he spun his husband into another perfect circle and then pulled him close. _This is joy._

 

\- - - 

 

**[Instagram]**

**seven-nik** in the west we call it “giving the bride away” but i think i like the japanese edition better, @v-nikiforov made me part of the most beautiful family tonight when he did san san kudo with @katsuki-don  
_yuri-plisetsky, v-nikiforov, katsuki-don and 64 others like this._

 

 **mari-chan** new brother @v-nikiforov new sister @seven-nik #viktuuriwedding  
_yuri-plisetsky, seven-nik, v-nikiforov and 18 others like this._

 

 **Jjleroy!15** I know it’s been said before but DAMN @katsuki-don has some moves #viktuuriwedding #jj-style #cantcompete  
_yuri-plisetsky, v-nikiforov, katsuki-don and 561 others like this._

 

 **lovelifeleo** maaaan you gotta watch out sake seems innocuous but that stuff is dangeroussss #viktuuriwedding  
_+guanghongji+, madonnayuuko, katsuki-don and 114 others like this._

 

 **phichit+chu** I AM SO HAPPY I CAN HARDLY COPE #viktuuriwedding (●♡∀♡))ヾ☆*。  
_lovelifeleo, christophe-gc, seung-gillee, and 129 others like this._

 

 **yuri-plisetsky** today for once i got to be @v-nikiforov’s brother so i guess i’m @katsuki-don’s now too (ugh, etc)  
_otabek-altin, v-nikiforov, katsuki-don and 73 others like this._

 

 **christophe-gc** celebrated @v-nikiforov and @katsuki-don’s vows today, looking forward to registering their civil partnership and to the day where because of their influence every person in japan, russia, and every other country on earth can say i do to whichever person represents the best and brightest hopes of their hearts #viktuuriwedding  
_v-nikiforov, katsuki-don, phichit+chu and 416 others like this._

 

\- - -

 

It was late and they were well and properly drunk, staggering back into the room, only mostly dressed: Viktor had somehow lost his tie, his shirt, and his coat, and Yuuri’s tie was around his head, both of them in the undershirts that had gone underneath their formal wear. Absolutely none of it mattered because Viktor didn’t even give the gymnast a chance to properly kick out of his shoes before he’d pressed Yuuri back against the wall with a kiss as messy as it was fervent.

He intended to spend a very long time drowning in his adoration of _his spouse._ Wanted to hurry. Wanted to take his time. Wanted to tie the two of them up in knots that no one was ever going to be able to undo. Yuuri’s kiss was sweet and it tasted of champagne and sake and all of it was everything Viktor Nikiforov had ever wanted but never known to expect or even ask for. This love was too big for a single body, or even for two: so dizzying sometimes that Viktor Nikiforov thought he’d come apart at the seams before Katsuki Yuuri came along and put him back together and then did it all over again.

Yuuri, who had the strangest way of nearly being able to read his thoughts, swept his fingers up Viktor’s neck and into the silvery hair he was so tremendously fond of. “Do you think it’s possible to die of happiness?”

“No,” said Viktor, murmuring his answer against Yuuri’s pulse, pulling Yuuri’s shirt over his head and then kissing between his collarbones, down his chest. “It’s the worst diagnosis,” he said, smiling against skin as Yuuri gave a shaky exhale. “Nothing to do but live with it.”

“Sou ka,” gasped Yuuri, and not because Viktor had _said_ anything shocking. No; it was always like this, the way Viktor’s hands mapped him out so steadily, so thoroughly, as though even after all this time there was still something new to discover, some secret he hadn’t already dug out of every one of Yuuri’s hollow hiding places. “For how long?”

“Forever,” Viktor promised, then, and he sounded reverent as he reached up to cup Yuuri’s face with both of his hands, to stare into the dark galaxies of Yuuri Katsuki’s eyes. Yuuri who was lost to seas of blue, the way he had been from the beginning. “Forever and then just a little longer still.”

 

\- - -

 

_December 2, 2016_

They took a honeymoon back in Queenstown, flying away from Japan’s auburn autumn into New Zealand’s blossoming spring, and it was regrettably short-lived: the Grand Prix called, and so did Professional Gymnastics, because Yuri Plisetsky had extracted a solemn, drunken vow from Yuuri Katsuki, something to the effect of how he wasn’t just going to sit down and retire like a housewife, now that he was married to Viktor Nikiforov.

It was perfect; it was simple; it was long, lazy days in the circle of Viktor Nikiforov’s arms.

“Hey, Viktor?” They were back in Hasetsu now. Ordinary Hasetsu with their ordinary house, having dinner with Viktor’s ordinary in-laws and his perfect husband: “We want to show you something.”

“What is it?”

“… Our family, we keep a shrine, and it’s got everyone’s names in it. Now that we’re back home we thought we’d maybe add yours?”

“It’s overdue,” Mari added. “But you’re back now, so.”

That was how he found himself with a piece of paper and a calligrapher’s pen, writing the following:

**ヴィクトル** **・** **かつき**

“Katsuki?” It surprised Viktor, even now, the way awe could still creep into Yuuri Katsuki’s voice.

“I think I read somewhere that in Japanese law spouses share a surname,” Viktor murmured. “Isn’t that so?”

Yuuri blinked, and he blushed, but then the light inside him turned back on and Viktor was awash in its glow. “You’re Russian,” he said. “Write it in Cyrillic.”

Viktor obliged:

**Виктор Катсуки.**

 

\- - -

 

_February 12, 2018_

Pyeongchang, South Korea

 

**Men’s Figure Skating Finals: Free Program**

_“Before tonight’s free program let’s take a quick look back on the extraordinary career of Viktor Katsuki — some of you, if you haven’t been following figure skating, may find the name Viktor Nikiforov more familiar, but he took his partner’s name following a ceremony for their civil partnership in Japan back in 2016.”_

_“After this Olympics, the Katsukis have announced that they’ll be relocating to Vancouver, Canada, which Katsuki — that’s Viktor Katsuki, not to be confused with his husband, who is also an Olympian — noted was largely motivated by a desire to live in a place where they could think about raising a family together and where they recently registered a legal marriage. Originally thrust in the spotlight by a viral video, the Katsukis have gone on to be outspoken supporters of LGBTQ athletes, work that’s been broadly celebrated by a number of human rights organizations, though it’s still controversial in Viktor’s home country of Russia.”_

_“Nonetheless, the Russian team is bringing him back onto the ice one last time. Viktor Katsuki has won more Grand Prix finals, European Championships, and World Championships than any other skater in history. He’s a two-time gold medalist and a four-time Olympian, and he’s skating tonight to an original composition by Ketty Abelashvili, which was apparently written for his wedding.”_

_“Asked how he feels about giving his final Olympic performance, and what he thinks his chances are of winning a gold medal, Katsuki quoted a speech made by his husband when they accepted a Visibility Award from the Human Rights Campaign following the Rio Olympics. ‘It won’t matter,’ he said: ‘love will win.’”_

_“Let’s see if love wins again tonight, Carly. Here he is, the living legend: Viktor Katsuki, taking the ice one final time.”_

 

\- - -

 

_March 22, 2019_  
  


“... What do you want to name her?”

“Nadia.” Yuuri’s voice was certain and sure. He’d gone to find Viktor at the rink, interrupted his coaching session with his newest aspiring skater to wave the adoption papers in his husband’s face, to be knocked over onto the ice with Viktor’s celebratory kiss.

Nadia, like Nadezhda.

It meant hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh omg it’s over. let’s play this fun game of WHERE ARE THEY NOW by the end of 2019 though:
> 
> 1) Guang Hong Ji takes a job working for Cirque du Soleil and winds up in Las Vegas. He spends a lot of his off time crashing with Leo in Hollywood because he still thinks he can be a movie star someday (he is wrong about this, but that’s okay)  
> 2) Leo de la Iglesia starts medical school in 2017 at UCLA, having learned his lesson in regards to attending schools with loads of snow. He will eventually open a sports medicine practice in LA.  
> 3) Jean-Jacques Leroy, after his retirement from gymnastics, joins a Canadian broadcasting network to be an announcer for the sport. He becomes an all-time fan favorite, sort of like Scott Hamilton, prone to all kinds of crazy outbursts and entirely too much enthusiasm about everything. He and Isabella are married and have three kids.  
> 4) Phichit Chulanont invents and lands a second vault called the Chulanont 2. He retires and goes on to open an acrobatic show in Bangkok which becomes a popular hit. Every year, Guang Hong tries to get him to consider joining up with Cirque, and every year he struggles with the decision because even though he misses America, his heart’s in Bangkok.  
> 5) Christophe marries Etienne and expands on his mentorship non-profit for at-risk youth. Etienne spends the rest of his life putting up with his antics and having regrets (but not really).  
> 6) Otabek Altin has relocated to Moscow to train with Yakov. If he has reasons, he hasn’t articulated them to anyone, least of all himself or certain noisy blondes; make of that what you will. He has stated that the 2020 Olympics will be his last.  
> 7) Yuri Plisetsky lives in St. Petersburg with his Grandfather. He is still competing. He will retire after Kenjirou Minami does, just to settle once and for all who is better and who lasted longer on the high bar. Otabek’s decision to move to Moscow is confusing and SEVERAL YEARS TOO LATE YOU OBLIVIOUS IDIOT I mean what sorry nothing to see here.  
> 8) Yakov Feltsman keeps considering retirement because teenagers going through puberty keep giving him heartburn. Every year he threatens it and every year he fails to follow through.  
> 9) Kenjirou Minami refuses to retire because it would give Yuri Plisetsky entirely too much satisfaction. They’ll make a truce just in time for the 2020 Olympics, after which both of them will bow out.  
> 10) Seung-gil Lee tried his hand at coaching. He was not very good at it. He was also not particularly good at commentating. As of 2019, he’s joined Guang Hong Ji working for Cirque, which is driving Phichit Chulanont literally nuts with FOMO and will probably result in him agreeing to come with them in 2020.  
> 11) Seven Nikiforov lives in St. Petersburg where she specializes in sports psychology and works somewhat extensively with the Russian olympic squads. She presently has a girlfriend. Her father is not thrilled. Viktor thinks it’s hilarious.  
> 12) Mari Katsuki has taken over the primary operations of Yu-Topia. The Katsukis are now semi-retired.  
> 13) The Nishigoris have the triplets. Sadly they are not named after figure skating jumps.  
> 14) Celestino Cialdini will be the new Head Coach for Team USA in the 2020 Olympics.  
> 15) Yuuri Katsuki is a husband and a father. He teaches children’s gymnastics and a few classes at a local dance studio, and he makes appearances periodically as a commentator and analyst for Japanese broadcasts of premiere events: the Asian Games, the Japanese Championships, and the Summer Olympics.  
> 16) Viktor Katsuki is a coach and a choreographer, training up the next generation of ice skaters with stars in their eyes and big bright dreams. He’s also about to be a father to a baby girl. By 2021 he and Yuuri will have two kids. After that, Yuuri puts his foot down before Viktor can manage to put together a whole soccer team.
> 
> I am taking a week or so off to think about what I might do next, fic-wise… as I mentioned in the comments, I’m kicking around a few different ideas right now. Thanks for your support and thank you for reading! See you next level?


End file.
